The Fringe
by Fifth
Summary: COMPLETE. Rude tells her that his past is riddled with tragedy, corruption, and blood; stories that parallel with recent crimes. With unseen dangers ahead, he must confront a ruthless old comrade and protect all that he has come to love.
1. Another One of Those Days

**The Fringe**

**Disclaimer:** I do not own Final Fantasy VII, if my bank account was compared to a sandwich, then it would be made of empty and poo. That is _not_ a tasty sandwich.

**Hey, guys. I kind of wrote this after a very short brainstorm. It's cool, though, because Rude's badassery more than makes up for the rest. Heh. Anyway, this is my first Final Fantasy fic that I've worked on, so enjoy, and please review!**

**Chapter 1: Another One of Those Days**

The silence in the vehicle was sometimes loud, even for him. His rather expensive watch on his left hand clicked lightly in his ear. Even the watch could be heard.

_How long has it been?_ He thought. _He shouldn't have taken that long._

Rude's mind was constantly circulating and engaged, and he was rather good at hiding the fact that something was on his mind. Rarely anyone ever knew what was on his mind, and he preferred it that way. The hard stare in his face remained unchanged, almost unyielding to anything and everything.

The car was parked in an alleyway somewhere in the poorer side of Edge. A brutal cloudy sky hung above, muffling all daylight that could have touched the city today. Possibly, it might even rain. The cars zooming across the freeway bridge that hung above couldn't be heard inside the car in the narrow alleyway.

What the hell was taking him so long? Rude frequently glanced at the side mirrors to see if he had finished up. Perhaps they'd stop by Seventh Heaven later for a drink. Tifa was always there to socialize and keep company.

He nearly bit his tongue after hearing that word: socialize.

_Yeah, right. Like you'd ever engage in full conversation, Rude._

As he found himself scolding his conscience, Rude also noticed that it had already been 20 minutes since he last self-quarreled. So he _was_ taking his time, then. It was quite alien to Rude, this impatience. Rarely would he ever find himself in a state of hurry, and now he was just slightly infuriated with his discipline.

A door in the alleyway, just behind Rude's smooth black car, burst open with an enraged, wild redhead storming out.

"This is a lifetime offer, you prick!" he yelled. "A one-time deal!"

A bulky, dark-skinned bouncer in a tight muscle shirt stood at the door, trying to stare down Rude's partner. Reno stood there for a second, too, just long enough for Rude to digest the slight bit of entertainment that bequeathed him. He lowered both windows in order to hear what was happening.

"Hey, I got no beef with you, big man," Reno snapped, pointing a finger at the twice-as-large bouncer. "Why don't you get your sugar coated, tar bait ass outta my way so I can talk to your bitch of a boss?"

The large bouncer shook his head and lightly shoved Reno backwards. The light shove almost made him stumble onto the damp floor, but Reno luckily regained balance.

"The boss says no," the bouncer replied robotically. "Leave. Now."

Reno's crooked scowl withheld his boiling fury. "Okay, so you guys picked option two. I'm telling you guys you won't like this. Just watch, I'ma be back for your chunky ass."

After flipping off the bouncer, he marched straight to the vehicle and peered into one of the windows. The bouncer watched curiously, but not without pity as he looked like he felt Reno was a waste of his time.

Reno bent down to meet the man in the dark glasses. "Yeah, so…they don't wanna do it, yo."

"Perhaps you're just unreasonable," Rude kept a straight, calm face, and spoke in a very deep, casually brooding voice.

"Hey!" Reno half-yelled. "Jacobson is the one who's unreasonable here. He's got riches and he isn't even willing to donate a bit to the Child's Fund."

The bald man glanced at the side mirror, noticing that the bouncer still hung around. "Tell me why we're here again."

"To get Jacobson to donate a bit to the Child's Fund. The boss wants to restore the city—God, you know what? I don't have to explain; you already know the whole damn thing."

Rude kept a straight face. "So you _were_ being unreasonable."

"No!" Reno yelled in absurdity, escalating his voice just a bit higher this time. "Why do you think I took so long, man? This idiot is one goddamned heartless son of a bitch."

"You're telling me this man isn't supportive of the Child's Fund?" Rude asked with less than half the absurdity of Reno's voice, though Reno could tell that his partner was rather surprised. "And that he's willing to risk more than just a donation to avoid us?"

"That's what I've been trying to tell you, man!" Reno said with agreement. "Look, we gotta run in there. Jacobson practically _owns_ this community and isn't giving it back."

Rude pulled on his gloves to make sure they felt just right. "Okay, but we're going to take more than just a donation if I'm going in."

The young man scoffed and ran a hand through his spiky red hair. "Pssh. I've had that plan going this whole time, bro."

The door opened and the former Turk stood straight with his face still unmoved. The tall, bald man shut the door and walked forward, smoothening his black suit and tie. Reno tried to make his way in front of Rude to spew a few intimidating words, but Rude kept Reno behind this time. His partner had already failed, so he would try his hand at negotiating. The much larger bouncer stood with a tough swagger on top a few steps.

"What'chu lookin' at, bald man?" he said with overbearing confidence.

"Who're you callin' bald, baldy!?" Reno exclaimed over Rude's shoulder.

Rude politely elbowed Reno in the abdomen. "Reno, shut up."

"The boss already says no," the bouncer said to him.

Behind Rude, Reno pulled out a chocolate bar and unwrapped it, munching thoughtfully on the sweet material. At least he was occupied.

"Is your boss not a humanitarian?" Rude asked in his deep, strangely commanding voice.

The bouncer's patience had apparently worn down. "Look, fool. The boss don't wanna do any business with no representatives. If it's that important to you, then your boss can come down here and talk to mine. And look at you, dressin' up like you used to be some Turk or somethin'."

"Oh, but I _was_."

Rude's fist shot up from his side and struck the bouncer in the throat, effectively stunning the man completely. Reno nearly choked on a chocolate piece as the Rude pushed the bouncer off to the side and into a pile of trash. He was out cold.

Reno looked down at the unconscious bouncer and kept chewing up the bar, finishing it completely. "You make it look so easy, man."

"It _is_ easy," Rude muttered. "You just make it difficult."

"_You just make it difficult, blah blah blah blah_," Reno mocked with a lowered voice, watching as his partner opened the door.

The music from inside the club blared out into the alleyway, but completely halted when the door closed again.

The club was sleek, the dance floor constantly shifting colors, the lights beaming with a lively shine, the bar serving drinks to customers nearby. A drink would be nice. Rude shook his head at the thought of it, however. Only a drink at Seventh Heaven would do.

Without suspicion, they made their way up to the second floor, reaching Jacobson's room with ease, only to notice that there were two guards in front of his room. Rude looked over his shoulder. Reno was quite distracted with the dancers up on stage, which could explain why the wait was a bit long for his return. Just as Rude turned to view the upstairs bar, he noticed the femininity of the bartender, and who she reminded him of. Boy, a beer sounded absolutely great right about now. Or was it the company? Or the atmosphere in general?

"What are you waiting for?" Reno then said.

Rude snapped out of his state of thought and noticed his partner already beside him. "Nothing. Let's go."

Passing by the upstairs bar, they walked up to the two tall men guarding the door, both who seemed to have already been acquainted with Reno. They, too, were dressed in suits that contrasted quite well to their pale skin. Like Rude, they bore sunglasses.

"The boss is busy right now," one of them said.

"He will not grant an appointment," the other then spoke.

Rude looked at the both of them with some absurdity, though it could not be telegraphed because of his glasses. "He will with me."

"Please let us escort you to the exit—"

"—and please refrain from disobeying our protocol."

"It is within our best interests—"

"—that you remain unharmed during this process."

Reno rolled his eyes at their lifeless, mechanical behavior and sighed, almost annoyed that he didn't have another piece of chocolate to eat. He fidgeted about and waited for something to happen.

One of the guards came and reached out a hand towards Rude. Immediately, Rude grabbed the man's wrist and pulled him inwards. With the thrust of his torso, Rude drove his bald head forward and headbutted him, knocking him out instantly. Reno winced at the sound of the impact, and noticed the other guard already lunging in for a strike at the bent over Rude. With immediate response, he rolled over the back of his partner and kicked the guard in the chest, knocking him backwards into a stumble.

The redhead regained balance and charged forward with a dropkick, sending the guard flying into the door that led to Jacobson's room. The door exploded open and the guard continued rolling across the smooth floor until he halted in the middle of the other room. Rude stood up and straightened his jacket, following Reno into the room.

Two women were already in the room, serving as company for Jacobson, and were half naked, which immediately caught Reno's eye.

A wide grin appeared on his face as the two ladies got off the couch and began backing into the corner of the room. "Hey! Where're you goin'? I don't bite!"

Jacobson, a stocky, middle-aged man with a thick businessman moustache and slicked back hair, stood up and adjusted his tank top, knowing that he couldn't reach for his jacket and pants, for they were resting clumsily on the floor in front of the fallen guard.

"Are you Mr. Jacobson?" Rude asked in his straightforward tone.

The half-embarrassed man cleared his throat. "Uh…yes. I'm afraid you've caught me at a bad time—"

"We need a donation from you to help Mr. Shinra's endeavor in reinvigorating the suffering parts of the city," Rude explained, a bit irritated that he had to speak in such a long sentence.

Reno went by the liquor cabinet and started making himself a drink. "If you were wondering, boss man, this is option two."

Jacobson shot a glare at the redhead, but his look softened towards fear when his view came back to Rude. "Sorry, but there is no way I am going to help the community at this moment."

"Hey, Rude," Reno said. "Maybe we should just beat it out of him."

"I'm getting there," his partner mumbled to himself.

After drinking a few sips, Reno went to Jacobson's pants that rested on the cold marble floor and searched for his wallet. When he managed to obtain it, Jacobson nearly exploded.

"NO! DON'T TOUCH THAT!" he yelled.

Rude grabbed him by his tank top. "If you don't want us to see the contents of your wallet, then you shall agree to donate."

Jacobson immediately submitted with a nervous laugh. "Tell Mr. Shinra that I would happily help the community."

"Mr. Shinra thanks your benevolence," Reno then answered. He set his drink down on the table. "But he doesn't thank your taste in liquor."

The two followed as Jacobson walked over to his desk and filled out a donation check for the Child Health Renovation Fund.

**Heh, hope you enjoyed the first chapter. Don't worry, the next chapter will lay the rundown on what will happen. I don't plan for this fic to be very long, too, so I'll try to make the words worth their space. Please review! It would be a great inspiration.**


	2. Seventh Heaven

**Hey, guys, here's chapter 2. I've put just a bit of the next chapter towards the end, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Just to let you know, the last bit is an alternate story point. In this case, it's a flashback (sort of). I'm also trying to make Rude a more shy guy, and his former self (in the other storyline) will be completely different. You'll see.**

**Chapter 2: Seventh Heaven**

"I've already called the boss, told him what happened, yo. So, you comin' up?" Reno asked as he stepped out of the car. "I'm probably going to play online or something. Maybe call up Elena, see if she's not too busy…"

"Sorry," Rude said indifferently. "I've got somewhere to go."

Reno raised an eyebrow with slight suspicion. "Since when did _you_ have a life? What's her name?"

The bald man almost scowled at Reno's assumption, even though it was correct.

"Won't tell me, huh?" Reno asked. "Fine. I'll find out eventually, you know that."

Without replying to him, Rude drove off, leaving him at the bottom floor of their apartment building. What would he say to her, if anything? He gripped the wheel tight and bit his lip, for it was not often that he would be somewhere without his loud, whiny redheaded partner next to him. Rude often watched how people reacted and socialized whenever he could. He was never quite the social butterfly, nor did he ever enjoy speaking to others. _Speaking_ to others, that is. Rude didn't mind hearing people talk, so long as they never blabbered too much. Reno was the only exception to this rule, since his mouth was like a motor, never stopping to take a breath.

The trip to Seventh Heaven seemed quiet. With some boredom, he turned on the radio for any current news.

"Welcome back," the radio buzzed. "Right about now, the traffic is looking rather fine, and it should clear up straight until rush hour. The time is 11:42. Recent news, a murder on the west side today. There seems to be no evidence left behind for the murder of a recently-identified Jackson Kent, who was a known gangster in his neighborhood. He had been shot in his home today at approximately 8:00 AM. Enforcement says no evidence was left behind."

Rude's ear caught the mention of the murder, which struck him odd. There were quite a few murders recently, and none of them seemed logical for a petty crime. Not only that, but several families ruled Edge's territories, which could be a reason for the murders. It was people like Jacobson that leeched the world now. The upcoming light turned red and he stopped his car.

Outside, pedestrians walked—to work, to the park, or home. Not everyone could afford a vehicle, though the growing rate of vehicles nearly doubled within the last year alone. The city was looking better though, with more street lights set up, better home construction, and even more plants and landscaping set up along the roads and plazas. It didn't look as industrial as it once did.

Something caught his eye, however. Two law enforcement officers were immobilizing a man who had just mugged a woman. He watched as they beat him down with their impact clubs and wrapped cuffs around his wrists.

It reminded him a lot of a time before he came to know the Turks.

_"This isn't some lousy, half-assed job, neither."_

The voice echoed in his mind for just another moment. Rude ran a tongue along the inside of his cheek in bitterness to the memory of such a person with that voice.

_Just too good at your own job. _He thought to himself, referring to the voice that echoed in his mind.

Rude shook his head and sighed.

* * *

The bar was reasonably quiet, due to the low amount of customers today.

_Well, it is Monday_. She thought.

Tifa found that she was either one of two things: busy or alone. Cloud was often gone much and Denzel and Marlene were always busy with school. When no one was here, she did not have much to do.

No one was here.

After wiping the bar with a damp towel, she walked towards the room in the back, where it was sort of a living quarters for her break time. A couch was on the side of the room and a television rested on the opposite end. It wasn't like her apartment, but it was good nonetheless. "Acceptable" would be the right word. No. "Convenient" was more like it, since it was quite cozy. Ignoring her thinking, Tifa rested on the couch and shut her eyes.

_Ugh, listen to me. I'm comparing my apartment to…this. I must be really bored._

Strife Delivery Service was moderately successful, and Cloud was usually gone all day—sometimes several days a week. Often, she would miss his presence around the bar. She assumed their friends were busy, too, since they rarely called about anything. Truly, life had been lackluster ever since Geostigma had been cured about half a year ago.

_Maybe I should go to college…get a degree._

A sound of entry caused her eyes to open. A customer! Tifa enthusiastically stood up and walked back out to the bar area.

"Hello, welcome," she said with a wide grin. And before her stood…Rude. "Oh hey, Rude."

The tall, bald, and genuinely handsome man took a seat in the stool at the end of the bar, where he usually sits.

_Well, it could be worse. _She thought, recalling that Rude wasn't much of a talker. He did, however, visit the bar every few weeks.

"A beer, please," he said.

He may have been quiet, but he was polite. She admired that in him. Somehow, she was so wrapped up in having a customer that she didn't even notice Reno's absence until a good half-minute. It was odd to see the two extricated, especially in places like these. Tifa poured him a cold one, and handed it to him.

"Here you are. Edge's finest," she grinned with pride to her former enemy.

"Thank you."

With curiosity, she then asked, "So…Reno isn't with you?"

"No," he answered. It was all he said, and he didn't say anything more than that.

The next few moments were spent in awkward silence, like the kinds Tifa used to experience in school when the class would be immediately quiet. This, however, felt even stranger since she had nothing more to do than to stand there. Putting up a toleration to the silence was something she could try, but somehow she knew it was a futile effort.

Rude was also a bit sour with himself, too. He never liked to talk much, but the room was completely silent, and he knew he would have to say something soon, unless she brought up something first. Why did he come here, anyway? He could have just as easily gone to another bar, but he chose this one.

"Uh, so…anything interesting happening lately?" she said nervously, breaking the silence.

He shook his head. "Not much."

_You idiot. _Rude thought to himself. _Come on, you've got to elaborate._

"Oh," she acknowledged. The fact that his sunglasses were still on somehow weakened their conversation, but it added a sense of mystery that made him magnetic. Her curiosity is being exercised, and she knew it.

"Yeah," he added, mustering up the courage to accelerate the conversation. "It's just been a lot of day-in-and-day-out work. Nothing interesting."

She nodded and was happy that he managed to say something longer than five words. "Sounds pretty boring, huh? Nothing happens much around here, too. Everyone is busy these days…"

"I understand," he replied, surprised that she was actually talking to him. It was alien to him, but he was rather comfortable with her presence. "Oh, and since you're wondering, Reno is back at the apartment. He's probably taking Elena out later."

"Oh really?" she then asked, seeing that he was talking somewhat normally. Tifa put up a funny face. "Usually he's with you…"

Rude slightly shrugged. "Yes. I don't think he has many friends."

The bluntness of his voice caused her to giggle a little bit, because it almost sounded like a friendly joke. Rude's face remained the same, though, and she didn't know whether he was indifferent or confused.

"Do _you_ have any friends?" she then asked, putting him on the spot.

He thought about what to say, and wanted to aim for something snappy, but he refused to because it just wasn't the norm for him. "If I had any, then I wouldn't be able to contact them. They would be busy, too."

She walked around the bar, toward his side, and sat on one of the stools next to him. Rude felt slightly uncomfortable yet relaxed at the same time, two contradictory feelings that he felt simultaneously. He sipped some more of his beer.

"So what are you here for?" Tifa asked him, resting her chin on her hand that had already propped itself up on the bar counter.

"Just the beer," he answered straightforwardly, lying. "You seem to lack customers today."

Flashing a sweet smile, she shook her head lightly. "Nope. I've got _one_."

With that, she could have sworn she saw a smirk form at the tip of his lips, perhaps a twitch. Did he just smile? She guessed so, because Rude somewhat turned just slightly away for her to notice, as if he was hiding something. What she also noticed was that it never looked like he made eye contact with her, and knowing that she had him sucked into this conversation, she would take advantage of it.

"So, what color are your eyes?" Tifa then asked.

Rude was getting a bit irritated by the questions. "They're brown. You can't see them?"

"No, you've got sunglasses on," she said, almost bursting out in laughter.

He mentally slapped himself for saying something idiotic like that. Of course his sunglasses blocked his eye color.

"Oh, right," he muttered half-weakly.

A smile from her kept him from being hard on himself.

The shyness that somewhat overcame him after that caused him to be more inward. It was a subtle body language that Tifa managed to catch, and Rude knew it. This was ridiculous to him, because usually he could hold his own in a conversation. After a quick moment, Rude straightened his mind out, and sat a bit straighter like he usually did.

"Can I see your sunglasses?" she asked him, still trying to look right into his eyes.

A troubling uncertainty that had risen within him told him not too, but he reluctantly agreed. The social barrier of his life was this pair of sunglasses; it was something he could hide in, making human contact easier. Her thin, gentle fingers felt the sleekness of the glasses, and she slowly pulled them off, uncovering his eyes.

"You've got beautiful eyes," she complimented with a sweet grin.

"Thanks."

Easily, Rude managed to keep eye contact with her. She was glad that she had been wrong about his eye contact ability. With a deep, subtle, dim light brown that his eyes emitted, she found them to be very attractive. There was an untold mystery about his eyes, almost as if you stared into them long enough, a myriad of stories, emotions, thoughts, and memories would present themselves to you. Admittedly, she could get lost in his eyes. The cryptic "something" would be more than enough for attraction. Tifa found herself gazing into them long enough to notice.

"It's not polite to stare," he then said, breaking her gaze. She could have sworn that he said it playfully, though his voice remained monotonic.

Faintly blushing, Tifa lifted the glasses to her face and put them on. Rude raised an eyebrow, effectively showing a feeling at last.

"So how do I look?" she asked, striking a pose and pursing her lips together.

Her undeniable beauty almost suppressed a response.

"Not as good as I do," he said almost automatically.

_Oops._

Rude almost put a palm to his face to indicate his shock to that idiotic reply. More often than not, he'd say something like that to Reno or Elena when they bugged him excessively. What made it even more impacted was that she showed a face of disbelief.

Much to his surprise, however, she burst out in little giggles. Tifa was far more surprised, however, because she had never seen Rude like this before. He appeared more comfortable now, and even revealed a half smirk.

"You should take these off more," she said, removing the glasses and handing them back to him.

Rude accepted the glasses, but instead of putting them on, he folded them and placed them inside his jacket, where two more spares were located.

"_I'll leave them off for you."_ He wish he'd said, but knew it would have sounded awkward and corny.

He took another sip from his beer, trying to take smaller sips so he'd be able to spend more time here without actually saying so.

"So Reno and Elena are dating, huh?" she said, noticing the awkwardness of picturing Reno with only one woman. "I don't think a wild animal like Reno would ever date."

"Elena's quite the animal herself," Rude shrugged. "The equation works."

Tifa smiled. "Apparently it does."

"How about you and Strife?" he asked her. "You two have each other. How's that?"

The question caused her to bite her lip. Sure, she and Cloud had a more-than-friendly relationship, but honestly she did not know if their relationship went anywhere other than an occasional affectionate exchange. The problem was that he was always gone, and he wouldn't talk about much. Clearly, he still had an unsatisfied soul and was searching for something, and she would have to decide either to help him or move on like everyone else.

"He's gone often," she cautiously confessed. "Most of the time it's just me and the customers that pass through, and occasionally the kids."

"It's pretty lonely, huh?"

"Yes," she said, then noticed that he had finished up his drink. "Are you finished with your beer?"

Rude finally realized that he had gulped down the whole thing. "Yes, I think I am."

"I wouldn't want to keep you waiting from…whatever it is you have to do," she had said while standing up and heading to the other end of the counter, subconsciously attempting to have him stay.

"Actually, I'm done for the day," he professed. The next thing he tried to say troubled him, but he managed to congregate enough will to say it. "Do you mind if I stay? You look like you need the company."

His hasty delivery of the last bit made the offer seem unorthodox for him, but Tifa knew that this old adversary was just being friendly. She couldn't even remember the last time she hated Shinra so much, which only proved that life was moving forward. It was something she assumed Cloud had trouble understanding.

"That's sweet of you," she said. "Thanks."

"It's nothing," he responded. "I don't have anywhere else to be."

Tifa took his glass and rinsed it, wiping it clean and placing it with the other glasses. Rude watched as she worked, her beautiful, athletic figure moving so gracefully. A feeling of pride rose within him. He had successfully made a great conversation with Tifa, and he was now staying for an extended time. While her back was turned to him, he granted himself a smile.

"So are you still working as a Turk?" she asked him after she finished cleaning up.

"No, not really," he replied. "But we're still doing…work. It's just not as dangerous as it used to be."

She followed up with another question. "Were you always a Turk?"

Rude remembered the voice that rang in his head on the drive over here.

"_This isn't some lousy, half-assed job, neither."_

"No. I used to work as something else."

"What?"

He grinded his teeth with some difficulty in answering her question. "You really want to know?"

"Please?" she asked cutely.

He sighed. It would be difficult to tell this story efficiently, for it was not a story; it was a _person_. That hard, imposing tone of voice that rang in Rude's ears constantly reminded him of what he used to do.

"It was a very long time ago," he stated. "I don't remember how long. I had applied for a position for a now-inactive Shinra department. It was called VICE."

"VICE? What does that mean?"

"VICE stood for Versatile Investigations and Civil Enforcement," he explained. "It was a different branch of the standard Shinra security department, and involved several crime activities in various cities. I was stationed in Midgar. I don't think you had joined AVALANCHE yet."

She kept her eyes drawn into his. "So you were a cop?"

"Sort of," he said with a slight stammer. "It was strictly undercover work."

With her curiosity drawn to him, he was given time to elaborate and explain what he used to do, and who he used to be.

* * *

"Victor," the motherly voice said. "Are you ready?"

The young man walked down the stairs and greeted the much older woman. His short, buzzcut hair and his innocent eyes were notable, but he knew he would have to be much tougher for today. His aunt Gracie was proud of him, and helped him straighten his jacket.

"Where is your uniform, dear?" she asked.

Victor Rude shook his head with a prideful smile. "Gracie, this is the investigations department. I won't have to wear one, except for formal occasions."

The intelligent, poised voice of the 21 year old was actually hiding the absolute anxiety that submerged him. He had never felt quite like this ever since sports tryouts back in high school.

"I'll probably be home late today, so you don't have to save a plate for me," Rude informed her. He had already begun to leave the house, dressed in his black zip-up hoodie and straight-legged jeans. The morning was cold.

"Come home safe, sweetheart," she then said, giving him a hug.

Rude returned her embrace and gave her a peck on the cheek. "I'll be fine. Don't worry."

At that moment, his cell phone began to ring. He reached for his phone—clipped to his belt—and checked who was calling. He felt his chest cave in. Summoning the courage to answer, he put the phone up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"This Officer Victor Rude?" a voice spoke on the other end of the call.

He gulped. "Yes, speaking."

"Okay, son, I want you to meet me at the Holland Diner in the Sector 6 slums in 30 minutes, can you do that?"

His voice was strangely accented, curved with a deep, imposing tone. Nonetheless, Rude answered back, "Yeah, I'll do that."

"You got a gun with you?"

"Just the standard issue."

"Alright, bring that with you."

"Sir," Rude said. "Aren't we gonna go to roll call?"

"We don't go to roll call. Security pigs go to roll call."

"Uh, okay."

He heard a click on the side of the phone as the other man hang up. Rude was confused with that demeanor, since there was no closure to the call. Ignoring that, he sighed and hoped that public transport wouldn't be too busy. He stepped out the door and met with Midgar's Sector 8.

**Alright, so I hope you guys liked it. I also hope to get chapter 3 in soon, so…until next time, I guess. Review, please! If there's something odd about the way I'm writing it, I don't shun outside recommendations, so long as they're reasonable.**


	3. Termination Protocol

**A special thanks for my two insightful reviewers. They've really helped my take on the atmosphere, and I think I've got a better perception now. Anyway, I haven't much to say, except that I've worked on Chapter 3, heh. Enjoy, readers!**

**Chapter 3: Termination Protocol**

The strong aroma of coffee, eggs, bacon, and pancakes could be sensed for several blocks. Rude stepped into the diner and walked past several cold, granite tables before noticing a man with a newspaper unfolded, covering his face as he read several articles. Cautiously, he tried to peek around the newspaper, but when the newspaper dropped just a bit, he saw the agent's face and sat down.

"Right on time, Officer Rude," the man said. "I like that."

Victor sat down across the small restaurant table and took a good look at his overseer. He looked like an Easterner, an imposing man with sharp facial features. His hair, cut into a slick crew cut, was a mix between silver and black, and the goatee that was mixed in with a thick stubble on his face gave him a gruff feel. Undoubtedly, he was a handsome man, and the way his face seamlessly blended with his hair made Rude compare him to a lone wolf. He couldn't see his eyes, however, for they were hidden behind sleek frameless sunglasses. To top off his look, the agent wore a dark gray suit to match his hair color. However, he didn't look that much older than Rude, but he certainly carried himself like a much older man. Perhaps he was 25, or just a bit older.

"Are you going to get something to eat?" he then asked, without looking up or even acknowledging him. "My treat."

Rude shook his head. "No, thank you, sir."

"Alright then," he replied, still looking down at the newspaper.

"So," Rude started. "What is needed of me today?"

The man lowered his newspaper and eyed Rude. Even his presumed glare could be felt through those sunglasses. "I need you to keep your mouth shut so I can read my paper. Then we're going to head out."

Already, this man, Agent Damian Hunter, established his presence for Rude. His demeanor was very intimidating and commanding, one that especially scared rookies. Perhaps that was his goal today: to scare rookies. And Rude was a rookie. He could feel as though he was cringing in his seat, and couldn't help but compare to Damian's urbane way of sitting, completely casual and relaxed.

Rude sat there for a moment, looking around the room, the various people that walked in and out of the diner. The Shinra Electric Company was definitely supplying the city quite well, but places like these proved otherwise. The plate alone was an unwise aesthetic choice to Rude's eyes. Absolutely no sunlight could be seen down here. The next few moments were spent with no interaction between the two.

"Don't wear that around ever again," Damian's voice spoke up, finally setting down the paper.

Rude looked confused, trying to identify what Agent Hunter was referring to. He cleared his throat in confusion. "Uh, what—uh…do you mean?"

"Come on, don't be stupid with me," Damian said. "I'm talking about the badge. Never wear your badge, unless you want to go back to the office and get some Shinra Security pig uniform."  
"Sorry, sir," Rude said, taking off the badge that he had worn around his neck. It was odd that Damian could tell he was wearing a badge, because he had tucked the badge into his hoody. He placed the badge in one of his pockets and stared down with some shame.

"Rookie," Damian scoffed with slight distaste, taking off his sunglasses. "Wear that around and I might as well kill you."

His eyes were a strange shade of hazel, and the way he glared into Rude was comparable to the way a predator stared into its prey. Rude felt the diner walls closing in just a little, and swallowed with some difficulty in looking back at Detective Hunter. Those hazel eyes showed weathering, telling stories and mysteries that were hard to understand.

"Check please," he then said. The waiter came by and handed the check to him. Damian leaned back into his seat and sighed. "It's okay, though. That's why we're here, right? You're a rookie. I'm going to make you a veteran."

"So what must I do, sir?" Rude asked with growing anticipation for today's work.

The veteran agent chewed on a last piece of toast and grinded his teeth thoughtfully, the crunchy toast crackling in his mouth. "Today, I'm going to run a few tests. Then we'll see how tomorrow goes, and if you haven't died by the end of the week, I'll take you under my wing."

Victor grinned fearfully. "What's my first test?"

The veteran agent looked at Rude with a smirk as he finished up the toast. Rude was confused, but anxiously waited for his commanding officer's next words.

"Here's the check," Damian said, sliding the bill across the table to the rookie. He straightened his tie and stood up, already leaving the table. "Pay the bill."

Nervously, Rude took the check and hastily paid it, and even left a tip that he had no time to calculate. The assorted thoughts that pulsated around in his mind all had one thing in common, and that was not to screw up his recruitment opportunity. After that, he followed Damian outside towards the parking lot to enter his vehicle. God knows where the day will take him after that.

As the rookie caught up to his supervisor, he wondered just which car Damian owned. All of the other vehicles were quite scrappy since the neighborhood was poor, but the only vehicle he could have guessed was the jet black luxury car parked in the corner of the lot. The air was damp, too, so he guessed that the rain system had been put to work.

Damian stopped in the parking lot and put his sunglasses back on. He turned to face the newbie and took a good look at him. Looking around the area, then upwards at the plate, he sighed, almost as if ready to explain something.

"Okay, Rude," he said. "I'd like to formally welcome you to the most aggressive federal crime unit ever constructed. This department isn't like any security department. We aren't lapdogs, we aren't pushovers. You want to be a lapdog, go join the Turks; you want to be a pushover, join Security. This isn't SOLDIER, either. We don't run around dressed like rock stars, strutting and showing off our fighting abilities. I don't babysit, either, so you better pick your ass up when occasions call for it. We're the expert fishermen, which means that we catch the big fish.

"Our operations are very deep behind the curtain, almost unseen and unnoticed. You'll have to learn how to operate undercover and how to carry orders efficiently. The work here is dirty, gritty, and harsh, but it has its rewarding side if you can act accordingly."

Rude stood there and absorbed the words to Damian's long briefing speech. The way he spoke had a feel to it, as if he had said this many times before. Damian took out a cigarette and lit it, smoking it with a casual approach. The man was actually a bit shorter than Rude, but his presence sure outweighed the rookie's.

"The city is a colder place than you think," Damian continued, his deep, urbanely accented voice clear and understood. "It's not always about seeing LOVELESS on Friday night. VICE is here to regulate and enforce civil law. Versatile Investigations and Civil Enforcement, rookie; VICE is the blood of this city. You have to understand that it is _everything_ around here. It's what keeps the gangs in line, what helps regular civilians sleep well, and what sniffs out any undercover operatives working for terrorist networks. Busts, arrests, termination protocols, et cetera. Judging from previously failed operatives, this line of work can be emotionally draining—perhaps impairing. This is your last chance to back out of the training period. Are you ready?"

Rude nodded confidently. "I wouldn't have come here if I wasn't ready."

"You _better_ be ready," Damian said, pointing a finger at Rude. The two walked towards the black luxury car (Rude had guessed correctly) and he unlocked the doors. "Because this week will push you to the fringe."

* * *

"Yep. That's what he said," Rude finished and paused, glancing at his watch.

Noting this, Tifa looked at the clock hanging just above the door. The day was creeping into the late afternoon, though she wouldn't mind hearing some more from him. "You have to go?"

Right after she had said that, Rude's cell phone started ringing. Immediately, he picked it up and looked at the caller ID. She watched as he answered the phone, his demeanor very disciplined as it always was.

"Yes?" Rude answered. "What is it?"

"The boss just called," said Reno's voice on the other side of the call. "Come pick me up. We have to investigate this…murder."

A minor chill seized Rude's spine. It had been a lengthy period of time since his last murder investigation, and seeing dead bodies again wouldn't be pleasant. Nevertheless, he accepted what had befallen and agreed to investigate.

"Who?" he asked straightforwardly.

"A gangster, by the name of Jackson Kent," Reno answered. "Where the hell have you been all this time, anyway?"

Rude immediately recognized that name. He had heard it somewhere before, some time today. Looking down for the next few moments, he tried to sift and organize his thoughts. Aha! Jackson Kent was the murder victim discussed on the radio earlier at noon, while he was driving. If the local enforcement had called in the former-Turks to investigate, then it must have been serious.

"HEY!" Reno's voice exploded on the speaker. Tifa even jumped a bit from hearing the redhead's voice. "You still there?"

Rude had turned away from the phone for awhile after his partner yelled, trying to regain his sense of hearing. "Yeah, I'm coming. Right now."

He shut off the phone and sighed, opening his jacket to reach for his sunglasses hanging on the inside pocket. With a sigh, knowing that he would have to return to his own world, Rude put the sunglasses on and got off the barstool, fixing his jacket and tie. Tifa grinned and watched as he was about to make his way out.

"I'll see you later, _Victor_," she said almost sweetly.

Rude just nodded; already back to his closed sense of being. "Until next time, Ms. Lockhart."

"No need for formalities," she said with a grin, "even if you're on-the-job. Just call me Tifa."

He almost smiled, but forced himself not to. "I'll make sure I finish up that story."

"I'll hold you to it," she said.

"See you soon, Tifa," he then departed, leaving the bar.

* * *

The news was correct, indeed. There was absolutely no scrap of evidence anywhere. _Anywhere_. Forensics was already storming the place, hoping to scrape up something out of the crime scene. It was also harder because it had already turned dark by the time Rude and Reno had arrived there. Several forensics scientists were occupied by conducting experiments in the household while other officers and detectives kept busy.

"What do we got?" Reno asked, drawing the attention of the superior officer in charge.

The superior officer, a tall and slender man, walked over. "Most of it is clean, with the exception of the blood, of course. We're still judging the method of entry. Probably just another robbery, since the safe was also raided…"

"It's not 'just another murder' if there is little convincing evidence," Rude stated, eyeing bloodstains on the floor.

The bed, too, was completely stained with blood, as though the body had laid there for awhile. They must have removed it already. It looked as though the man had come into Kent's room and killed him. The forensics team seemed to have trouble finding evidence.

"The body?" Rude requested, not turning to the man in charge.

"This way," the man said.

The body had been extracted to another area nearby, waiting to be dropped off at the morgue, probably. Rude followed the man to the body and watched as he unzipped the body-bag. The rotten smell had already hit Rude's nostrils when the bag opened. Jackson Kent, a known gangster in the neighborhood, was an older man, likely in his 30's. The only gangsters above 30 years old were involved with either the large families or rich men like Jacobson.

Rude noticed the two bullet holes located at the sternum.

"Yep," the officer sighed. "He's got a double-tap entry wound to the sternum."

"What's that?" Reno asked, completely oblivious to the term.

Rude squatted down to examine the wounds, noticing the close proximity of each one. "It's an old school maneuver. Double taps are a quick way of terminating an enemy with two succinct shots. The shots should be millimeters apart, and they're usually executed at close range."

"Well, neighbors said they didn't hear anything, either," the officer informed the two. "Suppressor usage is likely."

"Indisputably," Rude asserted, standing back up. "This wasn't just some robbery. It was an execution."

The officer stood up and rubbed his chin in contemplation. "But sir, the safe was completely emptied."

Rude gave him a glare that seemed to be effective even through his sunglasses. "No punk robber can execute a perfect double tap."

"What was in the safe?" Reno then said, deviating from the body details. "Like…money?"

"Files," the officer said, much to Reno's disappointment. "There were several leftover files in there. I wonder if our man had taken anything."

Next, they traversed from one end of the scene to the other. It appeared that Kent was shot while standing and had fallen back onto the bed when he stumbled. The killer must have been at the other side of the scene, out the doorway, and in the living room. The door to the bedroom was open, too, then. Jackson stood in the doorway, and was shot, falling back onto his bed. Puzzled, Rude digested what he saw a little bit longer.

"Here are some papers that we've collected," the supervising officer said, handing some papers to Reno, who quickly browsed them before handing them to Rude.

Rude glanced at the papers, many of them referencing unknown things, likely confidential information.

_Operation Poseidon. Operation Blackbird. Execute termination protocol…_

His eyes were glued to the words "termination protocol," and he knew that it was from somewhere, but was clueless as to where it originated. Termination protocol was a term he had not used or heard of for quite some time.

_"VICE is the blood of this city. You have to understand that it is everything around here. It's what keeps the gangs in line, what helps regular civilians sleep well, and what sniffs out any undercover operatives working for terrorist networks. Busts, arrests, termination protocols, et cetera."_

"Termination protocols, huh?" Rude acknowledged the paper.

Recalling Damian's words, he bit his lip suspecting Jackson Kent's ultimate association. Inconspicuously, he reached over to a nearby table for some latex gloves and slipped them on, leaving both Reno and the officer to discuss the scene. Rude walked back out the bedroom and into the living room where Kent's body was. Squatting down to examine the body again, he turned the dead man's right arm over and examined the wrist. From the forearm to the wrist, it looked like pen writing had been smeared out, because it was smudged. Rude could barely make out the words.

"_Here today, gone tomorrow; always behind the curtain."_

"Behind the curtain" was a term he recalled, too, which meant that his suspicions could be correct. Was this man connected to VICE? It couldn't be true, because VICE had been disbanded for about 8 years now. Mystified by the puzzling evidence that the police missed, he stood up and took off his gloves. This man probably was not a gang member. There must be a connection between him and VICE, but who would want to kill a former VICE member?

With no further desire to delve into the rest of the crime scene, Rude disposed of the gloves and returned to Reno and the officer in the bedroom. "It's getting late. We'll be back tomorrow."

Reno raised an eyebrow. "What?! We don't even know what happened here, man!"

"Exactly," Rude said. "It's not very logical for a petty robbery."

With no other words, the bald man immediately walked outside, leaving both Reno and the officer confused with his reaction. There were so many thoughts in his mind that the closed site seemed to lack air. Reno reluctantly followed his partner, catching up to him as they neared the parked car in the street. Rude unlocked the door and stepped in the vehicle, not thinking about what he was actually doing. His mind was more focused on Jackson Kent's relationship with VICE.

Reno walked to the car and stood next to it for a few seconds, his mind wondering why Rude was so quick to escape the crime site. The driver's window slid down and Rude turned towards his partner.

"Get in," Rude declared.

Rolling his eyes in confusion and frustration, the redhead walked around the vehicle and entered the passenger's side, plopping down next to Rude. A moment of sigh ensued inside the vehicle, giving both of them a breath of air after the hasty retreat from the crime scene. Rude was gripping the driver's wheel with tense fingers.

"Can you explain to me now?"

"Something isn't right," Rude said while staring at the rearview mirror. The car started up immediately and he began to drive them down the street.

Reno didn't understand, nor did he have any patience for asking further questions; he would start making demands, instead. "Tell me what's not right, then."

"It's hard to explain," Rude mumbled.

His partner's eyes widened with growing aggravation. "Hard to explain!? I'll tell you something hard to explain: having your partner ditch you for the whole day and not even have an 'explanation' in mind—"

An ear-splitting explosion from behind caught the two former-Turks off guard as puffs of orange clouded the rearview mirror, immediately demanding their attention. The flames swallowed all obstacles across the street, engulfing the crime scene and everything in close proximity. Stomping on the brake, Rude looked behind his shoulder at the smoldering parked vehicles, and especially the house where Jackson Kent was murdered. Reno, however, flew forward and collided into the dashboard because he had not buckled his seat belt.

Rude threw the door open and stepped out, eyeing the flames that undulated toward the sky, licking a few palm trees that stood nearby. The slums would be awake tonight while the fire burned onward. The bald man gazed at the flames for a few seconds, then Reno, recovering from his dashboard collision, stumbled out to join him. The two watched the scene with near-amazement.

"What the hell…" Reno started.

"Still angry at me for leaving?" Rude said in his ever-composed tone.

The staggered redhead scowled at his partner.

**So there's Chapter 3. I'll try to make the shift in plotlines a little simpler for you guys if it's not done that well, yet. And I'll also give some of my own input into Rude's overall personality based on Damian's influence. Well, if you guys have any advice or just want to give me random opinions on this, then please review. With that, I'll see you guys next time.**


	4. Reaching the Line

**Alright, here's chapter 4. Damian's plan for the day will take an interesting turn. A bit more of what is happening in the "pre-plotline" will be revealed, too. Other than that, this chapter was made to lead up to the next chapter. Enjoy, guys.**

**Chapter 4: Reaching the Line**

"How long have you been an officer, Rude?"

"2 years, sir," Rude hastily answered, almost as if he were talking to an army officer.

Damian shot a glare at him. "_Never_ use that language around here. People out here are always conspiring. They've got ears in places you don't expect, so keep the rookie talk at a minimum."

Rude nodded. "Yes, si—…okay, Damian."

"So why did you sign up?" Damian asked him, keeping one hand on the wheel. The red light disappeared and they were already halfway down the other block. "VICE, I mean. It's not like we've got propaganda…or advertising."

Rude shrugged and looked out the window, watching the people walking down streets, and the small flood of light that the openings in the plate let through. "I want to, uh, keep my neighborhoods safe from any crime possible."

"Right, but why did you sign up?" he chuckled with repetition from the unsatisfactory answer, glancing over to the rookie that seemed to slouch in his seat.

"I want to…become an agent," Rude then stated, facing his trainer.

Damian's previous expression turned serious as he took another drag of his cigarette. "That's what I was looking for. Stick with the plan, and you can do it. Survive this week, and I can make you a full-on operative in 6 months."

The young man gave a sideways smirk and looked outside. Well, it wasn't too bad so far, but then again, they had done nothing yet. Rude's anticipation was still at a high, waiting for any moment to impress his commanding Agent.

"So does Shinra ever intervene with this work?" Rude then asked.

Damian shrugged and looked out the driver's window. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"You said this was a federal unit," Rude reminded him. "But you talk as though the Turks, Security, and SOLDIER are your neighbors in the same division."

His commander gave off a smirk. "You pay attention to detail well, don't you? VICE is a joint organization founded both by the federal government and Shinra, which, to me, is likely a partnership bond. It doesn't mean shit, anyway. With all that mako development, Shinra might as well own the world—and it probably _does_. We're practically involved with the other three units constantly, so it doesn't matter."

"Practically involved?"

"You'll get to meet some of the other units this week, since I've got a meeting with some of the leaders, anyway," Damian explained. "Not too many people in the other units enjoy VICE so much."

Rude raised an eyebrow. "Why's that?"

"We're too good," Damian stated bluntly. Rude had thought it was a cocky expression, but Damian seemed to be dead honest, his face unaffected by Rude's initial reaction.

Rude looked out his window and pondered on Damian's statement. "Too good?"

"That's right. What, do I have to repeat every goddamn word?" Damian snapped with slight impatience. He finished up his cigarette and tossed it out the window nearby a group of children playing on the sidewalk. "Our unit, though probably under-funded, shows the most development out of rookies. None of the other security units in Midgar can even touch our substantial progress. Why do you think I promised you 6 months for the agent position? 6 months is _nothing_ in the other units. You'll be lucky to get past officer training in 6 months in Security, and other specialized positions can gather up to 18 months of work."

"Right," Rude said, having a curious focus on Damian's explanation. "The training must be strenuous for an agent position here, then."

The car slowed down as Damian turned into an alleyway between small houses, where the train station to the upper levels could be visible. It rolled parallel to the fence before halting to a stop. Rude's contemplation subsided when he noticed that Damian had turned the engine off.

"There are no long, strenuous training periods," Agent Hunter told him. Damian stepped out of the vehicle, with Rude following behind.

They walked down the damp alleyway towards the point of entrance. The damp smell of cardboard was evident, along with the cold, humid air filling up Rude's nostrils. Water rushing down a drainage point could be heard while cars sped past the alleyway entrance. The small openings from above that let light in was blocked by a thick blanket of water vapor, transferring the brightness across the entire sheet of haze. It was a cloudy day, today.

"That is not our method of training," Damian stated as they exited the alleyway. The two made a turn around the building and walked on the sidewalk. He gestured towards the view of the neighborhood, the town stores, the beat up cars, the poor pedestrians. "Our method of training is adaptation. This city is a jungle. You have to decide if you want to be a predator or prey."

Hunter was a perfect fit for his last name, Rude thought. From the look in Damian's eyes back at the diner, Rude could already make a sure assumption. This man was a predator, a hunter bent on catching…prey? No.

"So we catch prey?" Rude asked.

Damian shook his head. "We're predators made to hunt predators."

A predator bent on catching predators. Damian's laconic responses allowed Rude to accept them easily without refusal or disagreement. One question still kept busy at the back of his head, though. Was this man trustworthy?

Damian turned into one of the rundown apartment buildings and entered through the door. As Rude followed him in, the din of children playing and screaming, laundry at work, mindless social chatter, and even radio filled his head. These neighborhoods were very poor, indeed, though Rude hadn't been this far into the slums before.

The two marched upstairs to the sound of unstable wood thumps with each step. A dim chandelier filled up the large room that they had entered. No one seemed to notice the two. Rude followed Damian as they took a right. Several people that passed him in the upstairs hallway seemed to greet him with smiles and grins, much to Rude's own surprise. Was this man a hero?

"A rule of thumb in this line of work," Damian said while stopping at the door towards the end of the hallway, "is to never bring your morals along with you."

Rude stiffened his eyebrows to this man's words. "Why not?"

"Principles, morals, and ethics are lethal out here," he said, knocking on the old wooden door. "The day you bring them to work is the day you don't go home."

He could tell Damian was a bit irritated as he looked down with dismay. Damian was a bit indifferent to it, however, and waited for the door to open while knocking again.

"We're not heroes," Damian said. "We don't die like heroes. We don't fight for a noble cause and die on some peaceful, harmonious field. No. Us…we get killed in the mud. We eat dirt and blood when we die."

Rude looked up, a bit disappointed with Damian's pessimistic take on things. But then again, he was a veteran, and has probably seen some atrocities. "I understand."

"It's depressing, yes, but the sooner you realize it, the sooner you'll know how the game is played. Once you know the rules, you'll be able to break them," he assured. "All knowledge will come in time. I am only here to guide."

The door immediately swung open and the two were greeted by a lean, older man, likely in his 50's. He had slicked-back blond hair with reading glasses and only a black tank top above a pair of raggedy jeans. The tattoos on his arms proved that he was a gang member, yet he greeted them with surprising enthusiasm.

"C'mere you son-of-a-bitch and gimme a hug," he grinned while greeting Damian.

"Yeah, easy there, Simon," Damian replied with a subtle smirk.

Simon, the old gangster, took a good look at Rude which led to an expression of surprise. The rookie stood in his place, slightly hunching and nervous.

"Well, aren't you going to say hello?" Damian said. He then directed attention towards Simon. "Simon, this is the rookie I told you about the other day. His name is Victor Rude."

"Victor Rude," Simon acknowledged, still having a somewhat wowed look on his face. "That's one bad ass name, rookie."

Rude looked down. "Uh, thanks."

The two men directed Rude into the house and they walked to the living room area to have a seat. Surprisingly, Simon's apartment looked quite well off. Perhaps this man was an informant, or a collaborator. Who knows, he might even be another operative for VICE. Simon went over to his refrigerator and took out three beers, distributing two of them to Damian and Rude after opening them, then proceeded to sit in one of his armchairs nearby Damian. The two of them were facing the rookie, who looked quite confused, feeling light a deer caught in the headlights.

Rude looked at the beer bottle with some curiosity, then took a sip of the thing. His immediate reaction was a bitter expression, because his taste in alcohol was very limited. Nope, make that none.

"You got a virgin tongue, kid," Damian said while shaking his head, sipping the beer peacefully.

"It tastes like a…rubber band," Rude replied, taking in little sips at a time.

Simon had a wide grin on his face, likely from Rude's inexperience. "Don't worry, kid, you'll get used to the taste. This is the everyman's drink."

Damian and Simon stared at Rude for another few moments, as if they were analyzing his subtle gestures and expressions. When some time passed, Damian went back to drinking his beer.

"So what do you think of the rook?" he asked Simon.

Simon looked at Damian and gave off a smirk. "Reminds me of _your_ first week."

The lone wolf scoffed and fixed his tie, and as Rude saw this, he noticed how Damian seemed to be able to hide what he was thinking. The scoff was something of emptiness, and he couldn't really tell what his commanding officer was feeling. Rude didn't even know that a slight scowl formed at the corner of his mouth.

"Frustrating, isn't it?" Damian said. Rude was taken aback by his statement, noticing his boss's attention capabilities. "Can't really tell what others are thinking. Now, scram. The adults have to discuss something."

"There's some television in the kitchen if you'd like to watch," Simon informed the rookie.

Without any interaction, Rude automatically got out of his chair and stepped into the living room. The apartment had some large windows since it was located at the end of the hallway. The blinds that covered them only let in a diminutive amount of light, and since the weather was cloudy, the room was illuminated in a shade of depressing grey. Various old designer lamps and drawers decorated the room, along with books, videos, plants, and even a goldfish on the kitchen counter. He wondered how a gangster could have accumulated all of these luxuries. Simon could very well be a collaborator.

He walked into the kitchen and turned on the television that hung on the wall next to it. There wasn't much on, and he kept the volume low so he could eavesdrop on what Damian and Simon were talking about.

"So what now?" Simon asked. Their conversation had already happened. "I mean, once it shuts down, they might as well give Midgar to Shinra on a silver platter. Shit, Shinra might not even keep you around."

"Don't quite know the details," Damian responded, still sipping on his beer. "I figured _someone_ was going to take the fall for this shit. They'll probably blame _me_."

Simon sighed with slight frustration. "God…_damn it_, Damian. What the hell is the world coming to, huh?"

"It's never been good. I don't expect it to get any better."

"What the hell do you think they'll do to you?"

"I don't know," Damian said. "I've got loyalty, but I'm more than aware of what's going on. They won't fuck me over that easily."

Rude listened carefully at what they were speaking of. It was definitely work-related, and seemed utterly troubling to his mind. With inconspicuous movements, he listened intently for more words.

"I'll give it a few months. If they're willing to close it down, then I'll just have to accept it," Damian admitted, finishing up his beer.

Simon looked like he shrugged and sighed again. "You're a good man. I've seen how much you've grown over the years. You're the best at what you do; I know you know this."

"Tell me something new," Damian then said, causing both of them to chuckle for a bit.

"They'll be off with your head, won't they?" the older man then asked, his face showing signs of wear.

"Likely," he nodded, returning to that somewhat indifferently somber tone. "I'll see how far I can get with the rookie before it ends."

His curiosity was completely drawn into what Simon and Damian were talking about now. It was probable that they were talking about VICE. If they were, then the timing could not have been worse to sign up for it. However, Rude did not want to ask any questions to ruin his initiation week.

A moment of silence passed in the room as only the television could be heard. Damian took a deep breath then exhaled, putting down the beer bottle and standing up.

"Well, I gotta get going," he said. "It's always good to see you, man."

Simon shook hands with the man. "Keep your eyes open. You know I got your back."

Damian smirked, then turned towards Rude across the room. "Hey kid, let's move."

Rude turned off the television and walked over to the door, following Damian out into the hallway.

After they exited the apartments and headed back to the car, Damian picked his cell phone up and dialed someone while the keys were in the ignition. Rude was still thinking about VICE, but Damian's face told…well, he couldn't really _tell_ what was on Damian's mind. His sharp, strong, predatory appearance could be felt, though, and Rude decided to deduce from that.

"Yeah," Damian said, talking on his cell. "Green light? Sundown—gotcha. Okay, sundown it is. T-Pro it is, then."

Damian hung up the phone.

"T-Pro?" Rude asked. "What's that?"

"Termination protocol," Damian slightly grinned with deception. "We've got one later today. Congratulations, rook. You're about to make your first bust."

* * *

The last pushup was always the hardest for Rude, though it was something he would do daily. His mind was still on that explosion two days ago, and he had not reported it to Rufus yet. The information on VICE that had been revealed to him that night brought up too many questions, and he knew that he was nowhere in position to ask Shinra for any favors, especially if it was information about VICE's termination. So it wasn't just another one of those days.

Rude sat with his arms resting on his knees at the private, top floor swimming pool area, where his apartment was located. He had his own little gym area on that outdoor floor.

"There you are," a familiar voice said from behind.

Rude stood up and turned around to meet his partner. Reno was already dressed, and since it was rather early, something urgent must have occurred.

"What is it?" Rude asked, throwing on a towel over his head, already attempting to head inside for a shower.

The redhead raised an eyebrow. Rude didn't usually just ignore him like that, and would instead stand up straight and listen attentively.

"I know where you went a few days ago," Reno muttered. Those words immediately arrested Rude's movement.

"Oh yeah?" Rude said, turning around. His imposing posture dominated with intimidating presence over Reno's. "And who told you that?"

A mischievous smirk showed itself on Reno's face. "You know, you should've given Tifa your cell number. That way she wouldn't have to dig through her old address book for our home phone."

An arm immediately shot towards his collar as the bald man gripped his partner's shirt tightly, drawing the redhead closer to him. Reno never really liked it when he stepped into Rude's personal territory, because the taller, bald man was ferociously protective when someone intruded into his space—almost like some wild predator. He had to bring it up, though, because he wanted to personally help Rude.

"H-hey, big guy," Reno attempted to ease. "I just wanted to know if you needed my help with this…situation."

Rude let the redhead go and put on his sunglasses that were set nearby. "Why would I need help for something I'm not striving for?"

Oh, great. Now he was in denial. "Look, I just wanted you to know—and please don't whoop my ass for this—that, as much as you like Lockhart, she's with Strife. Lockhart is a _really_ fine chick, man…I know one when I see one, but I think she's in alien territory. I don't want you to come off as an intruder to their relationship, predator."

"When did she call?" Rude then asked.

"You were out last night investigating the explosion," Reno said. "I had answered the phone and told her where you were. She just wanted to tell you that she enjoyed your company on Monday, and that she wouldn't mind if you stopped by again. Apparently your little visit left a lasting impression on her."

Those words, though Rude was still a bit sour about Reno's intrusion, made him feel just a bit of warmth inside. The butterflies, to be specific. With some disgust to his uneasiness, he slightly scowled and continued heading indoors.

"Yo, I'm still your partner, man!" Reno called out to him, and then proceeded to follow. "If you need my help, I'll help!"

Rude stopped at the sliding door, and peeked over his shoulder, probably considering Reno's offer. However, the man turned away with slight bitterness, opening the sliding door and going inside.

Now that she was not going to mind his appearance again, Rude's personal schedule for the day had changed. Almost immediately he forgot about Reno when he entered his bathroom to take an after-workout shower.

_She wants to see me again._

After taking the shower, the bald Turk stepped out and walked to his closet to pick his clothes. As he opened the automated closet, an array of the same color jacket-and-tie combination was presented to Rude. Carefully, he chose an appropriate one, which would seem ridiculous to some people because they were all the same color and design. When he finished dressing up, he stood in the mirror hanging on the door and looked at himself. Rude never saw that he was a handsome man. In fact, he never though much about himself, for he was too busy concerning himself with others. Damian was almost the same way. One never had time to look at himself when he was too busy.

Whenever Rude looked at himself, though, he saw bits and shards and pieces of his former training officer glaring straight back into him. The way Tifa stared into his eyes the other night was the same exact way he saw Damian's eyes. They were eyes with complete mysteries presenting themselves subtly.

In the mirror, Rude removed his sunglasses and took a careful look. He realized that his hard expression generated tension and discomfort, often useful for intimidating people rather than consoling them. A scowl soon followed. With complete focus and uneasiness, he tried to smile to himself. Even the smallest peek of a smile made him sickened, because it was so unusual for him, and even worse: he couldn't do it right. His forced grin made it look like he tried too hard. Rude tried again for the next few minutes before giving up, noticing that he had been wasting time on doing something ridiculous.

Opening the door, he headed back down the hallway into the living room of the luxurious apartment. He was going to go back to Seventh Heaven again, and didn't even know that there was already a natural smile on his face.

**Well, there's chapter 4. Please review! Chapter 5 will be up within a few days, hopefully. Some more…interesting turns will take place in our "pre-plotline" next time, so stay tuned. **


	5. Walking the Line

**Here's chapter 5. Damian's motives will take a more interesting turn in this chapter, which will truly affect Rude's perception of his training week. There's also some interaction with him and Tifa, too, so keep that in mind, and enjoy the chapter. Please review if you can, guys, it would be inspiring to know that some people are actually reading my story.**

**Chapter 5: Walking the Line**

The place was actually rather quiet for a Wednesday. Tifa was bored once again, lying on the couch lazily and sinking into thought. Cloud had not returned from his very long trip yet, and the bar was absolutely void of any human beings.

Her impatience for him was only rivaled by her intense love for him, although it felt more like a one-sided relationship because he could never tell her that he loved her, nor could she press the issue on him. She concluded that she was weak and helpless. It was times like these that she wished the world was in danger so she would actually feel useful. If only the blond-haired warrior could see her the way she saw him; his absolute growth and maturity mesmerized her completely. Strange to her was the fact that she could always help another person, but they could never truly help her, because she only wanted someone not only to express her feelings with but to share them.

A look of disgust exposed itself as she tossed and turned on the couch. She yawned resignedly and tried to curl up into a nap. It was only a minute or two until she completely fell asleep.

In her sleep, she experienced an extremely vague dream, though she could recognize only one face in it. Cloud was there. He had returned to Nibelheim as he had promised and defended her when danger struck. However, this was not the young, enthusiastic Cloud she once adored. The exhaustion in his face from years of fighting and torment was clearly visible, and it even looks as though he had healed just a little bit. She tried calling out to him, but he couldn't hear her. He was weak, and tired of fighting. Then she noticed that he saw someone far down the road, someone that he was likely pursuing. Without noticing her, he sprinted towards the silhouette, leaving her behind. Enemies appeared from all sides, but they were quickly dispatched by someone; someone she could vaguely remember. He stood there and fought all of them, defeating every last adversary. After that, she remembered feeling his warmth, secure and content that he would never leave.

"You know," a voice said, waking her up immediately. Her head lifted from the small pillow at the end of the couch. "Just because the bar's empty doesn't mean a customer won't drop by."

Her eyes met Rude's sunglasses as he sat on the small chair opposite the couch.

"Aren't you intruding?" she asked, still half-tired from her nap.

The mention of intrusion almost reminded him of this morning's little quarrel with Reno, but he decided not to react to it. "Sorry, but I'm not one to yell across bar counters."

Tifa, who had completely forgotten about her dream, sat up and stretched, looking towards the clock. She had been asleep for a good hour-and-a-half, which was surprisingly long, because she usually only napped for thirty minutes to an hour. Standing up, she let out a cute waking yawn and began walking towards the bar.

"Well? The usual?" she asked with a smile, fully back into an awake status.

Rude stood up from the chair and went around the bar, but stopped when he noticed that there were several dirty cups that had not been washed yet, still resting in the sink. Last night was hectic, he assumed, which was probably why she took a nap.

"Busy night?" he asked, an unorthodox thing for him to do.

She shot him a strange look, noticing that he referred to the various glass cups in the sink. "…Yes, it was."

Rude went over and sat on the stool with a hidden enthusiasm, though he could tell that it was uncontrollably growing and would have to turn it down just a bit. However, he could feel himself becoming far too interested in wanting to spend time with her. Honestly, he could be doing other useful things, such as investigating the VICE suspicions. Dismissing the thought, he just tried to focus on being as polite and as normal as he could be.

Tifa, somewhat irritated at first with Rude's sudden arrival, quickly forgave him when he took of his sunglasses voluntarily, with no hesitation or fear. When the thought of it had hit her, she wanted to slap herself. Rude would never do this with anyone else. _Ever_. With that thought in mind, a subtle smile came across her face as she filled up the glass with beer. She was thankful that he decided to be kind to her.

When she brought the beer over, he noticed that she had two in her hands.

"Why don't we go sit over here by the window?" she said to him. "It's a beautiful day outside."

Before he could agree, she already began walking towards the two seats next to the window. So she insists, he thought. Mixed thoughts were jumbled in his mind, several contradictory to each other. But, with courage, he stood up and joined her at the seats near the window.

She handed his drink to him and sipped hers cheerfully.

"I never knew you liked to drink," he commented.

Tifa looked surprised. "Hey, it's my bar, and I wouldn't own one if I didn't…"

He slightly raised an eyebrow to her unfinished sentence. "…like to drink?"

"No," she said half-teasingly. "I don't like to drink often, but I have my share of alcohol, too. Why?"

"You just never seemed to be a person who could enjoy alcohol," he said, shrugging and gulping down a small amount of the beer.

She took another drink. "I guess not all Turks are experts on information."

"Yes," he agreed with a casual nod. "But then again, I wasn't assigned to you."

An odd smile appeared on her face. "So you're saying you'd know me if you were assigned to spy on me?"

"Every single detail," he assured, showing just a bit of confidence in himself to tease her.

"So," she then said, counterchallenging his confidence. "Based from our last encounters and today, what could you tell me about myself, _Victor_?"

Rude could not back down from her test. He took a slow, deep breath, thinking of the correct things to say.

"You write with your right hand, but you fight in a southpaw stance," he started superficially. "You're always cautious that the beer doesn't overflow every time you serve it, so sometimes you under-serve the beer."

Tifa scoffed, denying his last statement. "No way! I never do that!"

"It's what I notice," Rude said easily.

She was absorbed by this, and even slightly leaned forward; she was obviously interested in other things he had to say. "So tell me more of what you've noticed."

"When others are troubled, you're usually the first to console them, whether they're a stranger or a friend." Rude then said, not realizing that he was digging deeper into her with his words. "You have a small tattoo of a butterfly on a flower behind your neck to remind you of Aerith Gainsborough. Your eyes, though most people see them as brown, are actually the captivating color of red wine, which pushes me further to feel pity upon those who have not taken a closer look. The look in your eyes signifies that you're very motherly, friendly, and caring, and at the same time, troubled. Though you put up one hell of a physical fight, you're desperately looking for someone to come along and save you; someone who would care for you, love you, share all experiences with you; someone who could show you the world within just a few words."

She didn't know what to make of those words. She did not know whether to deny some of his statements or to accept them. She had wanted to cry but she couldn't. When she looked at his face, she could see as he tried to analyze her subtle expressions. A troubled smile appeared on her face as she tried to withhold a few tears from his mixed bag of statements.

"What more can you tell me about myself?" she asked hesitantly, giving him a look of retraction.

With her limping words, he had realized that he struck a nerve. Rude wanted to beat himself for saying such things, but something within him kept him standing by his point. He predicted the verge of tears swelling up within her, but knew that she would fight them. This is what made her such a strong woman; if only she could see what he saw within her. But, he knew that she was in love with Strife. He should help her at the least.

"I'd like to tell you more," he said, returning to a more serious tone of voice. "But I despise feeling like an intruder. I'm sorry."

Tifa vacillated on whether to hate him or accept his apology, though inside she knew that he had no need to apologize. Every statement of his was correct, and she did not want to push him away. She noticed, too, that in his voice was a sense of self-hate for stepping in too far.

"It's okay," she said with a sniffle. All she wanted to do was deviate from the current topic at the moment, so she wouldn't make it seem as though Rude was unwanted here. "Thanks for the compliment with the eyes."

He let out just a little smirk of relief. "I'm lucky that I noticed."

A moment had passed between them. She couldn't believe that he had just let go of a smile, and it really made her happy to see one. But, more than that, she saw Rude in a new light. He was not only quiet, composed, and strong, but caring, bright, and sometimes even loving. Within, she knew that these conversations were building a very strong, fruitful friendship between them, and wondered why they had never directly conversed before. However, his mind turned to other things when she realized that he had not continued with his story, yet.

"Hey, so are you going to tell me what happened between you and Damian, or not?" she asked with her normal enthusiasm.

Rude's eyes almost lit up. "Oh, right."

He continued the story by explaining to her the situation with Simon, and the several events that happened after that, which clearly placed Damian into varying degrees of questionability. She listened closely to his story, sharing all of the anxiety, fear, and hope within him.

"Yes, then after that, we were at a traffic stop," he said. "It was already far into the afternoon by that time. I asked him why we were doing it…"

* * *

"You haven't done a traffic stop in a long time, rook," Damian muttered, straightening his dark grey jacket. He had already removed his tie and wore his shirt somewhat informally. "That's why we're doing it. This should be good."

Rude glanced at his training officer and what they had been through during the past few hours. The exhilaration of that period included visits to illegal clubs, house warrants for searches, and even a small quarrel with dealers on the street. Damian was still composed, but Victor's view of him constantly changed with each experience. Some of the visits did not even seem to be any sort of undercover work, and it was as if Damian had several friends in the criminal underworld. He commanded a sort of respect with a fear.

This was the first time he handled a civil enforcement matter today, however, and Rude's anticipation was nervous, not by the actual process of pulling the car over, but by watching what Damian would do. The questionability in his commanding officer grew unexpectedly. In front of them, in the heart of the slums, was a rather new car with younger kids—likely from the upper plate—occupying it.

Damian pulled out his reliable, sharply designed handgun. The first and only thing Rude noticed about the completely black gun was that the tip had a screw design on it, which meant that it was customized for suppressor use. Why would he need a silencer on the firearm?

"Follow my lead," he said to Rude. "And do as I say."

Rude cocked his standard issue pistol and exited the car with Damian. They both surrounded the pulled-over vehicle and held their guns straight forward, the adrenaline pumping through Rude's veins.

"Put your hands on your chest!" Damian yelled, frightening the young man in the driver's seat. "Hands on your chest!"

"Throw the keys out, now!" Rude ordered, catching Damian's eye.

The driver had placed both of his hands on his chest, but did not seem to understand Rude's command. Quickly, Damian thrust his gun closer to the man's face, frightening him completely.

"Did you not hear the other officer?" Damian asked, his voice growing hauntingly aggressive. "Throw the damn keys out, now."

Hastily, the driver turned off the engine and took the keys out of the ignition, tossing them over to the side. The absolute tremor in his eyes only strengthened Damian's power over him. Rude watched carefully as the veteran handled the situation, hearing and observing his every sound and movement. He kept an eye on the passenger, too, who was a young woman—and likely the young man's girlfriend. She was terrified, as well.

Damian stared into the young man with his keen, piercing eyes. "Your car smells of Sector 8. What the hell are you doing down here?"

"I was just visiting some friends," the man answered with little trouble and plenty fear.

"I should kill you so you learn your lesson," Damian said, his eyes ever-fixed on the passengers. "I'm surprised the gangs haven't killed you and taken your girlfriend yet."

The driver shook his head. "Please, don't…I really _was_ coming from my friend's house."

"My dirt on you proves otherwise," Damian countered. "You were at an illegal meeting, weren't you? Selling unauthorized mako stones…or drugs?"

The driver shook his head, oblivious to Damian's accusations. "I don't know what you're—"

"You know damn well what I'm talking about. Don't play that shit with me," Damian asserted. "Give me the money."

"Look, 'officer,' I don't have any money," the man replied, growing tired of Damian's inflexibility. "All of my money is given to me from my father."

The veteran glared into the young man once again, shattering any sort of courage left to stare back. A few noticeable seconds passed between them before Damian repeated the same words with a much darker tone. "Give me the money."

Rude, too, was becoming afraid. Apparently, everything looked very routine to the veteran agent, but the way it was approached seemed…predatory. Reluctantly, the driver reached for his back pocket for his wallet, and looked at his girlfriend for just a moment. He knew what was happening here, and he would have to obey the 'law' if he would hope to exit the slums safely.

"Don't look at her, look at _me_!" Damian snapped, scaring the man just slightly.

He pulled out all of his paper gil, which was quite a lengthy sum of money in total. Rude had guessed that these were rich kids, but wondered why they were in the slums. Conversely, Damian could be correct, yet he didn't want to accept it, because this traffic stop was painful compared to the ones he did in training. The driver handed his money to Damian and did not attempt to look at him.

When Damian stuffed the money into his pockets, the young man turned away.

"Should've known you guys were corrupt," he muttered.

_Uh oh._

Damian's view shot back to the kid. Instead of engaging the driver with utter aggression, he un-holstered his gun and took out a cigarette. The veteran lit the cigarette and took a long drag before tossing the half-finished thing away. After throwing it right into the driver's lap, he reached into one of his pockets and pulled out a coin. Rude's eyes watched carefully to see what the agent was going to do with it, because Damian's demeanor, though not explosive, generated a bone chilling eagerness within him.

"Okay, kid," Damian said, returning to his casual matter. When he flipped the coin, the ring of the flip stung Rude's ears. Whatever was going to happen next, he did not want to know. "Heads or tails?"

The driver looked confused. "Sir, I'm sorry if I've offended you—"

"You haven't offended me," he assured, his deep voice producing an array of anxiety. "Call the coin."

"Well, what happens if I lose?" he asked, still not looking at Damian. "Do I go to jail?"

"If you lose, you lose everything," the veteran stated. "Forever."

The young man in the driver's seat tried to laugh, but it came out as unsteady breaths. "How much is…everything?"  
"Everything," Damian repeated strongly. "Everything you've taken for granted, everything you could've been, everything you could've done. Everything you have ever known and love. Every chance you could've had. _Everything_."

The driver's voice stuttered under pressure. "W-well…what happens if I win?"

"You get a chance to change your life," Damian said.

Rude did not even pay attention to the tiredness in his arms for keeping the pistol raised. His eyes kept a fearful observation on Damian, knowing well what could happen if the young man lost. Everything that had seemed clear about Damian was now in the grey. Was this man a good man?

"Well, I haven't placed my bet on everything," the driver then said. "I haven't gambled."

Damian's eyes did not stray from him once. "Yes, you have. You've been gambling everything your whole life, you just weren't aware of it. You have always believed in chance occasions, and now you can't change your method of belief. Chance brought me here to you, and only chance will determine how you escape. So, you must call it."

A predator and a prey, indeed.

The moment of truth was here, and the driver was clearly afraid to say 'heads' or 'tails.' But, with some uncertainty, he looked up at Damian. "Heads."

Damian moved his hand away that covered the coin, and the driver, the passenger, and even Rude took a peek at what was facing upwards. Heads, it was, and a smirk appeared on the hunter's face as he looked back at the young man.

"You're lucky," Damian said, handing the coin over to the young man. "Today will change your life forever. Adapt, or you shall be hunted. Go on, get the hell out of my sight, and don't let me catch you down here again."

The driver accepted the coin and refused to make a reply. Rude lowered his gun and watched as Damian walked back to the car. Before he left the civilian vehicle, he exchanged a sympathetic look with the young lady in the passenger's seat. She, however, did not accept his apologetic look, and instead gave him a distasteful frown, as though he were a monster. Rude couldn't blame her, because Damian certainly took advantage of the entire situation effortlessly. He returned to the car and closed the door as the car ahead drove off, heading towards the upper plate.

Rude sat in his seat, afraid yet discouraged with Damian's demoralizing behavior. So, this is what VICE was all about? More disappointment submerged him as Damian stuck the keys in the ignition.

"Afraid?" Damian asked, not looking at the rookie. "It's your first day."

"So, that was some traffic stop, huh?" Rude asked sarcastically, looking away from his officer's side of the vehicle. "Might as well call it a robbery."

Damian let out a chuckle, pulling out the several hundred gil from his wallet. "If it makes you more comfortable, you can have the money. Book the 'evidence,' then."

He waved the gil in front of Rude's face, causing the rookie to turn to him and grimace with disgust. "No, I don't want it, man. That could've been blood money."

"All money is blood money," Damian said, putting the gil back into his wallet. "You should be glad that those kids aren't coming back down here anymore."

"Yeah, you practically threatened to _kill_ them."

"Well, how else was I supposed to get them to leave?"

"We're civil enforcers, Damian. We're supposed to help people, not hurt them."

"Did I not help them?" Damian asked, his voice turning towards reasoning. "Huh? I just about helped those two kids stay out of the slums, and even gave them a better incentive to live than any bitch therapist ever did! And don't you question my damn motives, because I know full well what I am doing here. You're still the rookie, and I just showed you how to handle the situation successfully."

Rude faced his training officer. "What would you have done if they had called the coin wrong, huh?  
"But they _didn't_ call the coin wrong," Damian then said. "Never ask 'if' around here, because 'if' is the only thing that will hold you back in the end. 'If' is the only thing that will cause you to fail. Never look back at anything."

The rookie slouched in his seat with a feeling of withdrawal, growing sickened of the day with each passing moment.

"That doesn't excuse the fact that you didn't stick to your job," Rude then said. "We're probably not allowed to have morals, but we should at least have a principle in doing our job. It's why we chose to do this in the first place."

Damian looked at the rookie, his expression slowly morphing from a tough face to a softer one. Rude noticed this, and wondered what was going on through his head at the moment. For just an instant, it looked as though Damian was about to quit the day. A smile appeared on the veteran's face and he looked at Rude.

"You're right," Damian said, surprising even Rude with his easy behavior. "I was out of line. Thanks."

Rude looked at him, still having a guarded feeling, not allowing himself to fall to sympathy. "It's…nothing."

"You know, you remind me of many things I used to be," he stated in a nostalgic manner, looking outside for a minute. "Of _who_ I used to be. It was a good feeling, too; going out into the world each day, trying to help all civilians possible, robbing the bad guys clean of any hope. Helping others was a passion I once had. Being a hero was a passion."

"And has it changed since then?" Rude found himself asking, slowly letting down his guard.

"Helping people used to be my number one priority," Damian answered. "Now it's taking down criminals."

Rude didn't answer to that, and instead digested Damian's sudden openness. It was hard to swallow what Damian had said right after the traffic stop. The ambivalence within Rude on whether to trust him or not was starting to grow. Up until now, he had thought Damian was just another civil enforcer. He was wrong. Quite wrong.

"Now, we've got a termination protocol to get around to," Damian said, exiting the previous scene. "Prepare yourself."

**Ooh, who is Damian now? Hehe. Such an unorthodox character in the Final Fantasy world, no? Anyway, I hope you guys are looking forward to the next chapter, because it will be life-changing for our young Victor. Again, please review if you can. It would be great. Thanks for reading, and the next chapter will be up soon.**


	6. Crossing the Line

**I won't lie to you guys, this chapter is fairly lengthy, and pretty intense. I hope you read it thoroughly, though, because every situation is worth reading. The plot will definitely thicken from here. Read it, and enjoy it.**

**Chapter 6: Crossing the Line**

"What's a termination protocol?" Rude asked as the car made its way down the street.

The music outside could be heard from a mile away as people stood socializing, shopping, and spending their time at the local square. Food markets, Shinra merchandising, et cetera was established here. But, in almost a flash, the car had already passed the marketplace, heading down towards the highway exit.

"A termination protocol is the removal of someone at a certain position with a certain significance," Damian answered vaguely. "They usually pose some sort of a threat to VICE or Shinra, or both."

"Are they like, arrests?" Rude asked.

Damian looked at him and a small grin appeared on his face.

Rude looked at road signs and noticed that they were exiting onto the highway that led up to Sector 8, a popular residential district. The highways were fairly congested, but the trip was calm nonetheless. It had been awhile since Rude saw this much light, too, which caused his eyes to adjust momentarily before seeing the several large buildings of the upper plate. The future of Shinra then came to Rude's mind, wondering just how far the company will go within the next few years.

"I wonder," Rude said, "just what will happen to Shinra in the next ten years or so."

Damian raised an eyebrow while looking at the rookie. "The next ten years? For most people, it's the same thing. Same job, same routine, same everything. But I don't look forward to the next ten years, because I'm always preparing for the next ten _minutes_."

"Boom," Rude supplemented, somehow getting used to Damian's attitude.

The agent shot a glance at the rookie again, showing a smirk. "That's right."

Traffic ahead was jammed, much to Damian's frustration. The two were stuck in traffic now, and had to wait for it to clear up.

"How old are you, Damian?" Rude then asked, trying to fill up the time while in traffic.

"Take a guess," he replied, trying to look and see what was up ahead.

Rude thought of the number he remembered back at the diner. "I'd say you were 25."

Damian smirked and kept his hands on the wheel. "Close, but no."

"It's a compliment, actually," Rude clarified. "Because you carry yourself as a more mature person."

He pulled out another cigarette to pass the time. "24."

_WHAT_?

Rude gave him a hilariously strange look.

"I know," he said, accepting Rude's reaction. "I'm a young one. Most of the veterans in VICE are well into their 30's."

"How did you get up there so fast, then?" Rude asked as his training officer lit the cigarette.

Damian took a drag of the cigarette and exhaled the smoke out the window. "I was one of the only few guys in Midgar willing to operate in the shithole, the slums. You learn things quick when you're in there."

"That's a lie," the rookie then said with ridicule.

He scoffed. "Fine, don't believe me, then."

"Come on," Rude said. "You sure you're not some kind of specially trained agent? You can tell me."

The veteran let out a chuckle. "What the hell makes you think that?"

"Just that look in your eyes," Rude commented, shifting in his seat. He had removed his hoody and instead wore his button-up shirt underneath. "I don't think anyone else can scare the shit out of a few teens from so little experience. You sure you weren't specially trained in like, intimidation skills…or something?"

Damian exhaled another breath of smoke and looked at Rude. "I was trained in a private federal facility from age 16 to 20. Joined VICE when I was 20, and have been here ever since."

"Federal facility?" Rude asked. "Non-Shinra, right?"

"I don't like to talk about those things," Damian then said, withdrawing from the conversation.

Rude had thought that Damian's answer to his questions would clear up a few things for him, but in fact, all it did was generate more questions. With a grunt, Rude turned away and reclined in his seat. The sky was cloudy from above, and the skyscrapers that touched them made it look as though they supported the heavens, especially the Shinra Building in Sector 0. Rude had noticed this because Damian had the sunroof open. Often, he considered where he would go from here if he made it into VICE. Questions about other members in VICE were also stirring within him, because he wondered if other members were like Damian.

"You got a girlfriend, Victor?" Damian asked, breaking his train of thought.

Rude still had his eyes shut, though. "Had one. We broke up a few weeks ago."

"It was because of _this_, huh?" he then asked, referring to Rude's application into VICE.

Shaking his head to the reference, Rude took a deep sigh. "Nope. She had a boyfriend already, and I was apparently breaking them apart. When they separated, we were together for about a year or two. She couldn't let go of her previous boyfriend and told me about it. We decided to break up."

His very brief explanation caused Damian to cringe just slightly. "Ouch. A year or two is some serious investment."

"Yep," Rude said, still reclined in his seat. "I'm starting to think that I'm cursed, because I just can't find the right girl. They're all under some sort of constraint."

He broke out into a laugh, ridiculing Rude's own low esteem. "Get out of here, man. Cut that bullshit. There are plenty of girls out there."

"What about you?" Rude then asked.

"Had a few," Damian said, but shook his head. "Nothing interesting."

"How long are you hoping to find one by?" the rookie asked him, glancing at the traffic for a minute.

Damian finished the cigarette as the traffic began to clear up. "Now _that_, rookie, is what troubles me. I honestly don't know."

Rude began asking more questions again, hoping to find out more about his training officer. "What are you looking for in a girl, then?"

He watched as Damian gave it some thought, tossing the cigarette outside and looking at the cityscape for awhile, assuming that Damian was troubled by the question.

"I'm looking for someone," he replied, but paused for a few thoughts to come to his head. "Well, someone who's opposite to what I am, I guess. I like a girl who isn't involved in what I'm involved in. Probably someone who's smart, loving, caring, and accepts me for who I am. She needs to be an escape from my own world."

Rude nodded with approval at his description. "You certainly put a lot of thought into it. So she has to be everything you're not, huh?"

"Somewhat," he sighed. "I'm pretty sure I won't find a girl like that for a good ten years."

"Well, you can always prepare for the next ten _minutes_," Rude said sharply, referring to Damian's statement about Shinra.

The veteran grinned at the statement and pushed down on the pedal as the highway began moving again. "If only it were that easy."

* * *

"Aw, that's kind of cute, I guess," Tifa said as Rude paused for a minute.

Rude shrugged and stared down into his empty glass. "Yep. He _does_ find a girl later on, though."

"Ooh, tell me who it is!" she said almost giddily, absorbed by his words. "Tell me what she's like!"

The bald man shook his head just lightly enough to give a sense of teasing. "I'll get to it, but until then, you'll have to wait."

In all honesty, Rude was hoping to have skipped the part with the girl, but he couldn't just ignore what happened in the past. Moreover, he would like to see Tifa's reaction when he actually gets to it, but that would be at another time. His mind was wrapped around that thought so much that he didn't even know she was staring at him.

She didn't know what she was doing. Why was she staring at him? It was something about him that caused her focus to be completely fixed on him. Her mind floated around for a few seconds before she was aware of it. Did she…like him? With that thought, she turned away. Try as she might, there was no way that she could ever come to liking Rude, and the feeling was almost as if liking him wasn't _allowed_ or something. Tifa wanted to love Cloud, so she dismissed that ridiculous thought, knowing that Rude was just being friendly.

"Are you finished with your beer?" she asked.

Rude nodded and handed her the glass. "Yes."

She smiled and carried the two glass cups over to the bar, but noticed that Rude was following her over. Wondering what he was doing, she spun around after putting the cups into the sink.

"Yes?" she asked.

Rude looked at his watch, noticing that it was already 3:00 PM. "I still have time. Do you need help with the dishes?"

Oh great, now he was being too generous. She wanted to decline his offer, but failed to find the correct words, so instead stood there like a fool for the next second or two with her mouth open but no words coming out.

The bald man gave her an odd look, cocking his head just a bit over to the side.

"Uh, I'm not much of a doctor," he said. "So you can close your mouth now."

Tifa immediately shut her mouth, blushing and turning her face away.

Rude almost chuckled, but let out only a small 'hm' in place of it. "Okay, I guess that's a 'no.' You want to keep your pride. I respect that. I've got some lesser things that need to get done, anyway."

"Gee, thank you," she said, smiling to herself. She didn't want to shun Rude, but she felt that he was being just a little too helpful. "Sorry if I'm…"

"Don't worry about it," Rude said, putting his sunglasses back on.

Just as he said that, someone busted in through the front door, opening the door loudly. They both glanced towards the man, dressed in a normal button-up shirt and jeans, though completely covered in blood at the torso. His eyes were wide with panic as he glanced around the room before spotting Tifa and Rude. He wasn't relieved to see them, however, and stumbled towards them.

"You've got to help me," the man said, half-sane and growing impatient. "You've got to help me. You've got to help me."

Rude held out a hand just slightly. "Calm down, sir. Are you hurt?"

"Tell us what happened," Tifa asked in a calm voice.

The man did not seem to hear them, but instead began to break into tears. The blood on his torso and hands didn't look like it was his. Crying uncontrollably, he dropped to his knees and began to mutter and drone indistinct words. Even his medium-length hair was covered in blood.

"Were you in an accident?" Rude asked, approaching the traumatized man slowly.

He looked up, his eyes red from the tears, and said, "My wife has been shot. My wife has been _shot_! I need help…I need help!"

Rude nodded, his face and composure still intact, and walked past the man and towards the door. Before he left the bar, he turned to the young lady in black.

"Keep an eye on him," Rude said in a strong, commanding tone.

Tifa nodded with quick response and walked over to pick up the phone to call the police.

The former Turk exited the bar and walked out onto the sidewalk, staring at both directions before locating the spots of blood on the ground, eerily marking the path to the victim. Hopefully she wasn't dead yet. Before he went to track the victim through the blood trail, Rude sprinted over to his vehicle and unlocked it to grab his handgun, because all he had was his impact club. Snatching the handgun, he shut the car door and locked it again, sprinting across the street and back onto the blood trail, following it as it led down the sidewalk. Very few people were on the sidewalk, and watched Rude cautiously as he followed the signs to the crime scene.

As he walked for about a block, he noticed how the blood turned into a dark alleyway. The man came from this way, he assumed. Rude followed the blood in the alley and watched as it led to a roof-beaten vehicle. The roof was completely broken and the windshield cracked, showing signs of an impact landing. With the deductive reasoning, Rude's vision curved just a bit upwards, finally spotting a broken window in one of the apartment buildings on the second floor. The bald man gripped the pistol, wondering if the assailant was still up there. Rude turned around and headed back out into the sidewalk, escaping the alleyway.

He turned to the left and entered the modernly designed apartment building, keeping an eye close for signs of anything conspicuous. There was no one in the entrance room of the apartment building, so he had to cautiously make his way upstairs. Canvassing the second floor, he walked right into the room that he suspected was the correct one, because the door was unlocked. Rude stood at the door for a moment, and took a deep breath. Several images of the outcome of his scanning the room flashed in his mind, all resulting in his eventual death. Rude exhaled and kept his gun pointed, hoping that the wounded victim was still alive.

When he opened the door, he took a quick scan of the living room in the apartment, noticing that someone had rifled through everything, leaving the room's cleanliness in a ravaged state. With his heart rate steadily increasing, Victor made a hasty scrutiny of the untidy apartment, rushing through the kitchen and a few rooms before heading over to the bedroom. When he was sure that there was no one around, he put his hand on the door and opened it slowly, the creak of the hinges piercing his eardrums.

The dead body on the floor of the bedroom caused him to look away, because the bloodspot that had spread a good 2 meters across already indicated death. The Turk almost winced when he turned away, but noticed Tifa approaching right behind him.

"There you are," she said. "Someone told me a bald man was up here."

Rude didn't say anything to her, and had wanted to warn her, but she already saw the unpleasant image. The dead woman's face was entirely pale, a frightened look frozen to her face from rigor mortis. Immediately, Tifa turned away and found herself throwing her arms around Rude for comfort, gripping him tightly. She was both afraid and terrified at the same time, seeking the nearest person for security.

He was surprised by her reaction, and even wrapped an arm around her to keep her safe and sheltered. However, he knew that the moment couldn't last, because he would have to investigate the scene.

"Did you call law enforcement?" he asked her.

Tifa, still somewhat afraid, looked up at him with frightened eyes. "Yes. They should be here in ten minutes."

_"But I don't look forward to the next ten years, because I'm always preparing for the next ten minutes."_

Those were the first words to come to mind, because everything he had done so far connected to VICE, including the investigations, the deaths, and his training period with Damian. He held Tifa in his arm comfortably for the next few moments.

"Look, I have to investigate this," Rude said, clearing his throat. "I think you should exit the room if you're not comfortable with seeing the body."

Tifa lifted her head just a bit and shook her head, letting go of him. "No, I think I need to see this, too."

"Suit yourself," Rude said bluntly, walking over to the dead woman.

Her face was beautiful, though pale and dead. Tifa watched as he processed and thought during this investigation. The first thing Rude noticed was the exact same thing the dead woman shared with Jackson Kent. The double tap wounds that marked her chest were perfect. Two bullets hit the sternum, likely piercing both of the lungs or even the heart. Rude had guessed the lungs, because a third shot was located right in her forehead, sealing the death completely.

"What happened?" Tifa asked curiously.

"Double tap execution," Rude said, gesturing to the wounds. "Both bullets were fired in succession and penetrated the sternum, hitting the organs inside. Then a shot to the head finished her off."

"Double tap?" she asked, obviously not knowing what the term meant. "How did you know that?"

Rude stood up and gave her a grave look, his suspicions growing larger by the minute. "Because I've seen it with my own eyes before."

* * *

Sector 8 was a very refined neighborhood, sporting some of the best bars, clubs, and nightlife. Victor had wondered why they were there, because Damian claimed that his work was exclusively done in the slums, or the "shithole" as he called it. It was refreshing to get some clean air, though, so Rude was happy. It was still cloudy above, but the day was getting darker.

Rude stood outside of a large hotel, waiting for Damian to return from his phone call. He exchanged a few looks with attractive girls that walked by, but when Agent Hunter had returned, he stood up from sitting on the luxury car and met the veteran.

"Green light, rookie," Damian said. "Let's go. This will be your first real bust."

"Okay, Damian," Rude acknowledged.

Right after that, he followed his training officer inside the hotel building, walking past the receptionist desk and the various people waiting in the lobby. Damian fixed his suit as they entered the elevator.

Inside, Damian lifted his jacket open just a bit to check his handgun, then looked at Rude.

"Still got your badge?" Damian asked.

Rude nodded. "Yeah."

"Now would be a good time to have it around your neck," he said, reaching into his pocket to get his badge out.

The rookie followed after Damian and wore the VICE badge around his neck, too. The anticipation was hitting boiling point as the count of the several floors served as a timer for him. Chewing a piece of gum to alleviate the tension, Rude waited as the elevator door opened into a dimly lit hallway. He followed Damian out as they walked down the large hall. When the trip reached the ten second mark, the veteran stopped and spotted the correct door. He turned to Rude.

"Moment of truth, rookie," Damian said. "You ready?"

Rude only nodded.

"Good. Stand by the door, and when I give you the go, kick it open. Intel says that there's only one man in the room, so he should be easy to catch."

The rookie pulled out his gun and waited for the command. Damian pulled out a card for the hotel door and slid it in the card slot, waiting for the green light to show itself. When both red and green appeared, he gave Rude a nod. The rookie stood back and charged up a kick to knock the door open. With a fierce lunge, Rude thrust his leg forward in a powerful boot, breaking the lock off the door completely and causing it to swing open violently.

Rude rushed in the room with his pistol still in hand and spotted one man in the living room of the hotel, sitting in a chair with his back turned to Rude.

"Police! Get your hands up!" Rude shouted, noticing that the man held a newspaper. "Put the damn newspaper down. Put it down, now!"

The man set it down and had his hands up. Rude, still having his suspect at a holdup, circled around to see the man's face. He was about 50 years old, with slicked back blond hair. His reading glasses gave off his appearance more than anything. By now, Rude didn't know what to think, because he was holding up Simon at gunpoint.

"Do you know what you're doing, kid?" Simon asked, his face tightened with seriousness. "Damian's going to have your ass."

From behind a few steps approached the scene. Damian entered the room and stood there for a second with his handgun tight in his grip. Rude glanced at the handgun, noticing that a suppressor was screwed onto the tip. A silencer? Why?

"Hello, Simon," Damian said, his deep voice penetrating the thick and confusing atmosphere.

Simon turned around and noticed Damian. "Oh, hey, Damian. What's goin' on, brother?"

The veteran looked at Rude as he walked towards a nearby chair and sat across from Simon. "Stand down, rookie. You're scaring everyone."

Rude carefully lowered the handgun and observed Damian's relaxed conduct. The veteran reached for some scotch on the near table and poured himself a quick drink. Taking a sip of the alcoholic drink, he sat there for a moment and looked at Simon, his face expressionless.

"Had a chat with the chiefs," Damian spoke up, setting the scotch aside. "It's going to go down hard. Some people are gonna have to take some falls."

"You're their bitch," Simon retorted. "Come on, don't you see the shit they're trying to pull?"

"Sorry, Simon," he said indifferently. "Orders are orders. I know my place in VICE, and I've still got some loyalty to my department despite some of my dubious methods."

Simon shook his head and sighed. "So what's going to happen to me?"

"It's game time from here on out," Damian replied. "You're going to take one for your team."

"And you?"

"I'll get mine when the time comes. Until then, I'll follow orders as they're given."

A confused Victor stood still, oblivious to anything they were speaking about. He wanted to think, but couldn't, and instead kept his eyes on the two that were speaking.

"Damian, you don't have to do this," Simon said, taking off his reading glasses. "I don't want to leave what I've got behind."

"You should've seen this coming, Simon," Damian replied, his eyes fixed on the older man. "I'm sorry, but this is my job. I'm doing you a favor."

Rude still watched them, anticipating an arrest, but the complete fear in Simon's eyes told a different outcome, one that he couldn't guess. Faintly, Damian gestured for Rude to sit down.

"Come on, rookie," Damian said after clearing his throat, pointing to a chair. "Sit right here."

Un-holstering the pistol, Victor Rude walked over and sat in the chair next to Damian, watching the both of them. The only sound in the room was the clock above the expensive television ticking time away. Yet, inside the room, time seemed to stop. The sounds of vehicles outside in the streets symbolized the outside world, bustling and forever changing while the hotel room was where time remained unmoving, where three men sat and lived in the moment. Ten minutes had passed since Rude was outside the hotel with Damian.

His officer looked at him, neither laughing nor angry. The gravity of his expression weighed heavy on Rude.

"Take this," Damian said, handing his handgun to Rude.

Without thinking, Rude accepted the pistol, noticing the suppressor that elongated the tip of the weapon. His mind raced with several questions involving "why," and he did not speak any words.

"Time to prove your loyalty," Damian said. "This isn't what was mentioned on the application. This isn't some lousy, half-assed job, neither. You know this."

Rude only glanced at his training officer.

"You wanted to be a made man."

With one last sigh, Damian gestured a hand out to Simon and looked at Rude.

"There you go."

The rookie, with little options left, did not know what to do, and sat there for the next few seconds before finally speaking.

"You want me to…"

Damian nodded. "To shoot him."

Simon leaned forward and laughed just a bit. "Come on, kid. Do me a favor. I'm dead either way."

The tension in the room could have been cut with a knife. All of the pressure was now focused on Rude, and he was frozen in his own uneasiness. Rude took a look at the smiling Simon, who already seemed to accept his own death. Couldn't he just refuse to do so?

"Come on," Damian said, keeping his predatory stare on Rude. "Shoot him."

Looking down, Rude laughed along with Simon for a second, almost crying to himself. He wondered how the day ever got to this point, and if he would even make it home. Hell, he might just show up on the evening news tonight.

"This is ridiculous man," Rude said with a grin. "Let's throw the cuffs on him and make it quick."

He looked at Agent Hunter, but the agent's face had not changed. Damian's own look demolished all lightheartedness in the room.

"Victor," Damian commanded with his brooding voice. "Shoot him."

It was the moment of truth, and what the entire day had built up to. But, with all of his strength and willpower, Rude handed the gun back to Damian. The agent grinded his teeth disappointingly.

"No," Rude refused, shaking his head.

The veteran finally broke out with a smile and stood up out of his chair. Rude assumed that they were going to leave.

"It's hard, you know," he said, his back turned to Simon and Rude. "Training a rookie. Sometimes, they just can't prepare for what's coming."

Damian immediately turned around with blinding speed, his handgun already in a shooting position. In a flash, Rude heard two succinct shots, muffled by the suppressor on the pistol. When the two shots were complete, Rude looked over at Simon, who now had two bullet holes in his chest, and at dangerously close proximity. Immediately, the rookie stood out of his chair, in shock, awe, and fear.

"Holy shit!" Rude yelled at the top of his lungs.

Simon's eyes were deathly widened and his breathing was disturbingly troubled as he struggled for breath. The two bullets had hit the lung, or lungs, but not the heart. Was it because Damian wanted it that way?

When Rude looked at Damian with his seized muscles, Damian didn't return a look, and instead stared right back into Simon, watching the life drain away from the much older man. The veteran looked indifferent.

Before Victor could move, Damian reached over and grabbed him by the shirt with one hand. With surprising force, Damian slammed the rookie up against the wall and glared at him.

"I told you to shoot him," Damian said, his voice chillingly aggressive. "Was there anything about those words that you didn't _fucking _comprehend?!"

Rude didn't say anything, and his training officer let him go, handing the gun back to him.

"That motherfucker is still alive," Damian snapped, pointing a finger at the dying Simon. "Finish him off."

The rookie, still unable to move from the mental trauma, held the gun up slowly in a shooting stance.

"Kill him!" Damian shouted when Rude was too irresponsive.

Rude shut his eyes and pulled on the trigger many times. His ears were deaf to all sound around him, and his world seemed to cave in with each passing shot. When the gun's slide had cocked back permanently, he knew that there was no ammunition left, so he opened his eyes. Simon was dead, riddled with bullet wounds in his chest.

One final look at Simon sealed the situation for the both of them. Rude, unable to handle the circumstances anymore, dropped the gun and shakily stumbled out the hotel room, leaving Damian in there with a fresh dead body.

Damian's signature double tap into the sternum was still noticeable as he stared at Simon's departed corpse.

**A fitting chapter title, no? If any improvements could be made for this chapter, then please review or message me! Other than that, if you'd like to review for suggestions, help, or just want to tell me what you predict or think about the chapter, you can. Stay tuned for the next chapter!**


	7. The Hospital Hit

**Hope you guys are still reading. I haven't had a review in awhile, but I've had hits! Anyway, the plot is just going to thicken in this chapter, so read it, and enjoy.**

**Chapter 7: The Hospital Hit**

It looked as though Rude was vomiting endlessly, constantly sickened with the previous scene with him, Simon, and Damian. The night had completely taken over, and the chilliness of the wind only did worse to Rude's already-sickened condition. He walked back into the vehicle after taking his little break and shut the door, taking dizzying breaths.

Damian finished another cigarette and tossed it outside. "This job is hard on people. I told you that you'd be taken to the fringe."

"We just murdered someone," Rude stated.

With a sigh, Damian pulled out his veteran's badge and showed it to Rude.

"You see this?" Damian said with an increasingly aggressive tone. "This is a VICE badge. It's a license to kill, raid, and plunder. This is a license to do whatever the fuck we want. If you don't respect the license, then you don't respect your job. If you don't respect your job, you don't respect _yourself_."

"We're supposed to take down bad men," Rude then said. "Not go around killing innocent people."

The veteran chuckled mockingly. "So you think Simon was an innocent person? He's a criminal, rookie. He's killed a lot of men for no particular reason, and he's been convicted of many felonies that we've condoned in exchange for his information. He _deserved_ what was coming to him."

"That's not…" Rude said with some growing anger. "…justice."

"Justice is something heroes have the luxury for," his training officer said. "We're not heroes, remember? We don't have the luxury of sparing someone on a termination protocol. We carry orders."

Rude scoffed and shook his head. "Justice is something that separates good men from bad men."

"I'm going to let you in on a secret," Damian said. "The term 'good' is just a fabrication, a state of mind to comfort innocent bystanders while real work is being done. Good does _not_ always prevail. Sometimes, it takes something bad to destroy something bad. We're in the _gray_, brother. We're the best of both worlds, unbound by any heroic or villainous rules. I had warned you about this already."

"Fuck that hero bullshit," Rude said.

"Kid, can't you open your damn eyes?" Damian then retorted. "I took down a wanted criminal tonight. I investigated his ass, I went undercover, and now I got him!"

Victor shook his head with some ridicule. "It can't be this way."

"Sorry, rookie, but it is. I'm sorry I showed you this world, but it had to happen some time," Damian said.

"But it's our job to do what's right. I joined this unit to put away the murderers, dealers, and gangsters…not to _become_ one."

After that last statement, the veteran laughed strangely. It seemed as though he had already forgotten about Simon. "You sound just like I did."

"I don't care," Rude said. "I'm not like you."

"No, you don't have to be," Damian replied with a more temperate voice. "But if you really cared about taking down bad men, this is the place to do it. There's no way around this, Victor. I understand what you're going through right now. You're afraid."

"I'm not afraid," Rude said.

"You're terrified," he corrected. "Everyone goes through it the first time. It was hard for me to understand it, too, but I made it through."

Victor looked away and crossed his arms together. Damian's voice seemed to descend to a more personal tone, becoming somewhat easier to listen to.

"In order for you to survive out here…you have to get your hands dirty and do a little wet work. It's the worst part of the job, yes, but once you get through it, then everything will turn out just fine," he said in a mentoring voice.

Rude sat uncomfortably in his seat, but listened to everything Damian had to say. The way Damian spoke honestly felt genuine.

"But," Damian continued patiently. "You have to take your time and let yourself grow a little older, a bit wiser, and a bit stronger. When you're good enough, you can finally _change_ things, but the only way you can truly change the bad is when you have it inside you. My path transcends these crimes, Victor. You'll understand one day."

A moment of silence passed between them, with Rude contemplating quitting VICE after today alone. Damian's words _did_ have an effect, though, and now Rude was confused. He saw the man as good, and he saw the man as bad. He saw many faces that Damian presented, faces that turned into something different with each action. The slope he now walked on was slipperier than anything else. Could this man be trusted? Rude didn't want to think about it.

The rookie sighed. "So what now?"

"I'm calling it a day," Damian said in a gentle tone. "I'll be at the diner again. If you really want to change the city, then show up tomorrow."

* * *

Tifa threw some water on her face to clear out the several thoughts lingering around in her head before heading outside with Cloud. He had just arrived this morning, and she told him everything about the crime scene and what Rude has told her so far. Predictably, Cloud offered to help and also expressed a break off work for awhile so he can spend more time at the bar.

"Tifa, you ready?" Cloud asked. "I'm already getting Fenrir heated up."

She raised an eyebrow and shook her head. "No, no, no. We're going in the car this time."

Cloud slightly groaned and stuck his tongue out, wandering over to where she was to grab the keys to the car. As he came to her and reached for the keys, he found himself looking at her with a strange affection.

"I missed you," he said innocently. "Sorry I was gone this whole time. I had things to get off my chest."

"I understand, Cloud," she replied, getting used to repeating the same words. "I missed you, too."

The spiky haired blond shot a grin and snatched the keys, returning outside to get into the car. Tifa smiled to herself and followed him outside and got into the tidy 4-door sedan. They were leaving to get to the hospital where they would meet up with the former Turks and converse about Rude's recent investigation. The selfless Cloud was always ready to help others, though he was still taciturn at times. He learned to lighten up a bit now, though, and that was all she enjoyed.

"Think the kids will be alright?" Cloud said as he entered the vehicle, referring to Marlene and Denzel.

Tifa followed him in the passenger seat and nodded. "They'll be alright. This shouldn't take long."

The car turned on and Cloud stepped on the pedal, heading straight towards the hospital.

* * *

"Are you connected with VICE in any way, Mr. Huxley?" Rude asked, keeping his eyes fixed on the man in the hospital room. The traumatized man gave the man in sunglasses a worried look.

"Is my wife gone?" was the first thing Mr. Huxley asked.

Rude looked down and swallowed. "She's gone, Mr. Huxley. I'm sorry."

The man didn't break down into tears, and instead had a very dead, emotionless look on his face. "Then I am already dead."

"Please answer my question," Rude continued.

Reno stood there impatiently, tapping his foot with uneasiness. They were still waiting for Tifa and Cloud to arrive, along with Elena and Tseng's call. Before Mr. Huxley could speak again, Reno's cell phone rang and he picked it up.

"This is Sexy speaking," he answered, knowing that it was Elena on the other line.

Right as Reno began to mutter on the phone, Rude signaled for him to step out of the room, which he did. The bald man stood up and looked at the traumatized man who stumbled into Seventh Heaven that other day. Mr. Huxley was breathing heavily.

"VICE is…returning," Huxley finally said.

Rude's attention was recaptured. "By who? The government?"

"No," Huxley said. "It's not the same as it once was. VICE is now a non-profit organization, operated by a few of the former employees that were jobless after its termination. The government sees this as a _threat_."

"So you're part of it?" Rude asked.

Huxley didn't want to say much to the question. "Only a few people have joined. Both the government and the new VICE are sending operatives to murder all of the previous members of VICE. The new VICE wants to kill off potential threats to their ranks by assassinating former nonparticipating members, while the government wants to get rid of those who have always been associated with VICE. This means they're after you, too, since you don't look like you're part of the new VICE."  
"So there's more than one killer," Rude said, almost disappointed.

"Of course," Huxley muttered. "If you've paid attention to the news lately, many people have been killed. The government tries to cover this up as much as possible. Wait a minute…you're a Turk, right?"

Rude nodded with a shrug. "Sort of. I'm still directly serving under the head of Shinra."

"Then the government isn't after you," Huxley then stated. "But the other assassins will come."

"You don't have to worry about me," Rude assured. "I should be fine."

"Not if the one who killed my wife comes after you," Huxley responded.

Rude's attention was drawn to his words. "And who might that be? Do you remember?"

"I'm pretty sure it was a government agent," the older man replied. "He donned a black suit and sunglasses, and his hair was a mix between silver and dark gray. He had a short stubble, too, and it made him look kind of gruffy. In short, he looked like the kind of outsider that government parties would hire. I wouldn't be surprised if there were 10 of them out there working under the same contract."

_Damian, indeed._ Rude was so sure of it, too. _But…Damian was…he…_

Before Rude could finish that thought, the door opened and Tifa walked in with Cloud. The blond haired man greeted Rude with a handshake and they all stood there together. Rude subtly noticed how Tifa's attitude was a bit more upbeat now that Cloud was here, likely because of spike's presence alone.

"How's it, Rude?" Cloud said. It was strange to see him in a normal outfit, because Cloud was usually geared in his SOLDIER uniform. "Tifa explained everything already."

"Knowledge is limited," Rude replied. "I'm still waiting on Tseng."

Cloud then turned to Tifa. "Tifa, did you grab the evidence we've collected yet?"

Tifa remembered about what had happened earlier this morning when she and Cloud entered the crime scene again to search for additional documents.

"You found something?" Rude asked.

"Something you might find useful," she searched her purse, but couldn't find anything. "Oh, no. I must have forgotten it. Give me the keys, I'll go get them."

Cloud handed the keys to her and she walked out of the hospital room, setting her purse down nearby. Right as she exited the room, a familiar voice had just finished talking on the phone. The redhead looked at her and flashed a grin.

"Hello," he said, trying to be as nice as he could.

All his greeting did was somewhat annoy her, but she was nonetheless happy to see Reno. "Hey, you. How have things been?"

"Shitty," Reno commented, his demeanor as profane as ever. "How many times has Rude been at your bar without me?"

She grinned. "Twice."

Reno grumbled. "Yeah. Kind of boring without the guy around."

"I figured you could entertain yourself," she replied playfully. "Or spend time with Elena."

He shrugged. "Yeah, but come on, yo. I need my dude time, too."

"Rude's doing some good for himself," she then said. "At least he's got things to work on besides hanging out with people. This investigation is…interesting, to say the least."

"Pssh, you should see him when he's into other investigations," Reno scoffed, shaking his head. "Something about him…he's just very assertive. Passively, though. But hey, all of the genius things about him are expressed when danger is around. You should be grateful."

"I am," she said with a giggle, turning back around to head towards the elevator. "I'll see you when I come back up."

"Maybe Rude visits for some other reason!" Reno said a bit loudly, causing her to stop in her steps.

Tifa wanted to turn around, but kept walking, ignoring what Reno had said. She made her way past a few nurses and entered the elevator. Inside, her mind kept chewing on what Reno had muttered across the hallway. Her thoughts about Rude were mixed, mainly because she still had a sort of attachment to Cloud. Rude was a nice person, one that paid a great attention to detail, but she had trouble picturing him as an everyman. Could he take care of kids? Could he give up as a Turk?

The elevator door opened as the elevator hit bottom level. Tifa stepped out into the hospital lobby and began walking towards the door. One thing she was intrigued by was Rude's involvement with his case, likely because his past was connected. If only she'd known more, she would be able to help him. She turned her head away in disgust with herself, because she detested moments where she felt useless.

Tifa walked out of the hospital and into the parking lot. On her way over, she was forced to stop at a pedestrian cross section in between two busy patient-and-tram drop offs and pick ups. She slightly groaned because it would be another good five minutes before she would be allowed to cross over to the parking lot.

Just as she looked down to her purse, someone had bumped into her. She looked up to see who it was.

"Oh, I'm sorry," the man said.

His face was hidden behind sunglasses that matched perfectly with his face, keeping his eyes away from contact. The way his hair was groomed was very businesslike, like a genuinely suave crew cut that was shades of silver and black. The way his light goatee blended in with his faintly stubbly beard was also very attractively cleaned. Legitimately, he was alluring and approachable.

"Uh, no," she said. "It's nothing."

"I should've seen where I was going," he added. "I was foolish."

Her mind was not on his strangely attractive appearance, though, but his urbane conduct. He definitely looked like he wasn't from around here. With some caution, she gave him a nervous smile.

"Please, you're more than forgiven."

He returned a grin. "Don't be too modest."

With some curiosity as to why he was here, she found herself asking, "Are you from around here?"

The man shook his head. "No. I'm just here to visit a relative in the hospital."

His black suit and silver dress shirt underneath made her unsure as to what his profession was, though. This man felt too elegant to be an office worker, yet too refined to be some rich gangster grunt.

"Really?" she then said. "Then where are you from?"

"That would be telling," he replied.

"Telling what?"

He shot her a subtle smirk. "Who I am."

After his words, the cars stopped and pedestrians were allowed to cross again. Tifa was heading towards the parking lot while the mysterious man was making his way into the hospital. She found herself wondering more and more why a person like that would be here, and why he would dance around a conversation like theirs. With a sigh, she continued forward.

As she took a few more steps, a sharp, ear-piercing noise deafened her ears, causing her to drop to her knees. Before she could shut her eyes to bear the pain of that noise, a burning sensation swept her body when she saw the violent cloud of orange spreading throughout her vision.

It was an explosion.

Tifa, finally regaining a sense of composure, stood up and opened her eyes again. Her blurred vision could barely make out the smoke coming from the explosion that had just happened. The car from the detonation was completely totaled when she regained her sight. When her hearing returned, the shouts and cries of civilians rushing to help a few downed individuals filled her ears along with a sharp, high-pitched ring.

Her mind immediately remembered the strange man, so mysterious in his demeanor, and very sophisticated. Perhaps he was too comfortable, and that was what she suspected. Before she could think any more, she instinctively sprinted back the way she came, towards the hospital. The adrenaline that had taken over her allowed her to quickly traverse people in the way and back into the hospital lobby.

Without thinking, Tifa rushed towards the stairs, trying to avoid panicking civilians along the way. She sprinted up to the third level, which was where Mr. Huxley was located, and began rushing down the hall towards his room at the end of the hallway. Nearly out of breath, she noticed the opened door to the room and saw that Huxley was still safe, but Rude, Cloud, and Reno were gone, either to find her or patrol the area.

Before she could enter the room, she felt a lingering presence in the near-empty hallway, so she jumped into the empty room across, holding the door open just slightly to see what would happen.

The man in the suit walked by and removed his tie, unbuttoning the first button on his dress shirt. It was the same exact man Tifa had spoken to before the car explosion. She watched as he reached towards his waist to grab a black handgun. Without noticing her, he screwed on the suppressor at the tip, and entered the room. Tifa wanted to jump out and fight the suited man, but it looked as though he was about to talk to Huxley.

"I knew you'd find me," Huxley huffed out. "I just didn't know it would be this fast."

"You shouldn't be surprised," the man said, taking off his glasses and folding them. He placed them inside his suit. "After your wife…"

"Do you find humor in that…?" Mr. Huxley asked, terrified by the man's indifference. "I thought you were dead."

The man sighed. "I _am_ death, Huxley."

"Then you're not the same man I once knew. What do you want from me then, Hunter?" the weakened man had said.

"If you know who the other members are, I suggest you tell me," the suited man said. "That way, I won't have to plow through innocent lives before killing these…defects."

Tifa, too, was afraid of the man because of the way his tone changed. It was much different than when they spoke outside. Somehow, the command in his voice reminded her of Rude.

"I thought you were killing all former VICE members…"

Damian shook his head. "You underestimate my contractor's intelligence networks. We don't go around wasting innocent lives like your associates."

"Innocent people?! You didn't have to kill my wife!" Huxley said with a weak struggle.

She saw him gripping his pistol, ready to shoot at any moment. "You should've thought about her before you decided to collaborate with them. I'm just following my contract, Mr. Huxley. Now tell me who the other members are so my contractor can sleep easy."

"Raven," Huxley stated, tears streaming down his eyes. "And Wolfe. Kill them, and the new VICE will crumble."

"Very good," the man said. "But, if you've lied to me, I'll happily volunteer to kill the rest of your family. That's how this information system works, you see…"

Huxley shook his head. "Don't! It's the real thing. They are the only two left."

"Alright, Agent Huxley," the man complimented, slightly chuckling. "I'll take your word on that."

The older man's breathing was becoming heavier. "And what of me?"

The man in the suit gave him a piercing glare. "You can join your wife…and Kent."

Tifa's eyes widened as the suited man lifted up his pistol and fired two shots at Mr. Huxley, both hitting the chest. When the bullets had hit the lungs, Mr. Huxley's breathing had halted completely, but the man in the suit fired one last shot into the forehead, finishing off the weakened patient. She turned away with a hand to her mouth and tears watering up her eyes. After he had finished firing the silenced rounds, the suited man grabbed his cell phone and quickly dialed a number.

"Termination protocol complete," the man said. "Request whereabouts of former Agents Scott Raven and Karen Wolfe. Proceeding extraction."

The suited man looked at Huxley's dead body for a few seconds, then turned around and headed out the hospital room. For a moment, it seemed as though he was a bit angry with himself for leaving the hospital room door open. It was rightfully so, because Tifa, from the room across, heard and saw everything that happened. He was getting away, and no one else was here to stop him.

She took a deep breath and waited for him to take a few more steps before charging out of the room to fight him. Reaching into one of her back pockets, she grabbed her gloves there and slipped them on, the leather showing definite signs of use. Tifa took one last deep breath and opened the door, heading down the hallway to confront the killer.

**Uh oh. What will happen next? I'm sure you guys know who this mysterious killer is, already. Heh, only in the next chapter, people. Review if you have any thoughts to express, and I'll see you guys next chapter.**


	8. Confrontation

**It's been a long week, but I've finished Chapter 8, which is seriously lengthy, since it contains some really long scenes. But, with all the lengthiness, I introduced a vital character in this chapter that I hope you'll find that you like.**

**Chapter 8: Confrontation**

Five months already, Rude noticed. It had already been five months since he was under Damian's jurisdiction, and, to be quite blatant, he found Damian to be correct in their misunderstandings. He had already gone on more than 15 termination protocols, all of them becoming easier each time. Rude, unlike his younger, more innocent self, was now a sensible and composed human being. Who knew that in only five months he would experience this much growth? Tolerating Damian was easier than before, too, after that hellish first week of training.

Damian shook hands with a suited man, though this man was in a navy-colored suit while Damian still sported either gray or black. Rude had already sat down in the small social area, located on one of the floors in the Shinra Building. The man seemed to be very serious and businesslike, with tied-back black hair and a bindi on his forehead.

"Hello, Damian," the man greeted. "Here at last."

Damian nodded. "Tseng, always a pleasure."

Rude looked at another man, a SOLDIER 1st Class who looked to be a tall, proud man with broad shoulders and long black hair. Damian shook hands with this man, too.

"Hey, Damian! It's been awhile," the man said.

Damian greeted this man, too. "Angeal, it's good to see you again."

Surprisingly, Damian was very composed around these people, unlike his usual moments of high aggression when they were at work. Rude dismissed it, though, because it was a good feature of Damian's, and it also expressed a sense of pride and modesty. He looked at the other two lower-ranking people in the room that accompanied these two men. Before he could analyze them, Damian had already started referring to him.

"This is my latest recruit, Victor Rude," Damian said, gesturing to him.

Rude stood up and shook hands with each person in the room whom Damian directed to.

"Rude, this is Angeal and Tseng, both are from SOLDIER and the Turks, respectively," Damian said.

After shaking both of their hands and exchanging a few words, Damian introduced him to the two lower-ranking officers. One of them, the SOLDIER, looked exactly like Angeal, except younger, smaller, and probably less responsible. The other, the Turk, was a young lady with wavy red hair, perhaps younger than both he and Rude.

"This is Zack Fair, SOLDIER 3rd Class," Damian said, then gestured to the young lady. "And this is Cissnei of the Turks."

Rude shook both of their hands.

"Alright," Damian then said. "Now, the adults have to talk. You know what to do."

The now-bald recruit nodded and headed over to the tables nearby. The socializing area wasn't too bad of a place. Mostly, this area looked like the kind of place where people would come to eat lunch. There was no one here, though, and as Rude headed to a farther table, he found himself being followed by the other two "recruits."

Rude sat down, his attitude completely composed and taciturn. Zack walked around the table and pulled up a chair, sitting informally, while Cissnei came and sat next to Rude. A conversation had already started between Damian, Angeal, and Tseng.

"So," Zack said after a long silence, gesturing towards Rude. "Your name is…"

"Rude," Cissnei answered, much to the bald man's surprise. "Agent Rude, right?"

He shook his head. "I've got another month before Agent, but yes."

"Well, people usually forget others when they're indirectly introduced," she stated, then held out her hand. "I'm Cissnei."

Rude shook her hand, somewhat looking upon her attitude with some oddness. "It's a pleasure."

Zack nodded. "You're an officer of…?"

"VICE," Rude answered.

The somewhat immature SOLDIER raised an eyebrow. "Hmm. I've never heard of it."

"You never will," Cissnei replied. "Not even the Turks know what's going on in that department."

Rude's face remained calm and indifferent. Cissnei noticed this, and that he hasn't made a facial expression ever since he entered the room.

"Not much of a talker, are you?" Cissnei said. "I can't really read your facial signs."

"Then that's good," Rude added.

He wondered if all Turks were as annoyingly competent as she, because Cissnei definitely had a strange air about her.

"If you're ever out of a job, you should join the Turks," she recommended. "We need more no-nonsense guys like you."

Rude looked away just slightly. "I'm sure," he muttered to himself.

"So what does VICE do, exactly?" Zack asked, not having much else to contribute other than questions.

"We enforce civil law along with investigations," Rude answered, not completely telling the truth.

Zack had a bewildered look on his face. "What?! I thought Security was used for that."

"We're…a special unit," Rude then said.

Several memories began speeding through his mind, memories of murder, drug busts, and the assault on gangsters. True, their methods were questionable, but Rude had already accepted Damian's theories. The darker side of life was disturbingly rational at times.

"VICE is a collaborative program created by the federal government and Shinra," Cissnei informed. "Only thing is, it's falling apart."

That was probably why she offered a spot in the Turks. Rude had always known that VICE was coming to an end, based on overhearing several conversations between Damian and colleagues, such as Agents Huxley, Raven, and Wolfe. Then there was the "Simon" thing, but Rude didn't want to remember that. He sat there, indifferent to her informative response.

"Turks know everything, don't they?" Zack then said, rolling his eyes.

She gave a smile and winked. "Nope. I just pay attention well."

"What more do you know about my department?" Rude found himself asking.

Cissnei tried to word herself accordingly. "It's a general dilemma over mako and such. The government wants to sever ties with Shinra for good."

"So there's tension," Rude assumed.

She shook her head. "It doesn't seem so. The government and Shinra are both agreeing on this together. They believe it will be a beneficial separation. I don't know what will happen to VICE employees, though."

"I can guess," Rude plainly remarked.

* * *

He had tossed her against the hallway already. How in the world did he react so quickly to her flying kick? Tifa, thrown against the wall, let out a cry of pain as he stood there, staring at her with his sunglasses on.

She looked up at him, but he didn't say anything, nor did he show any signs of surprise emotion. Just as she processed her thought, the barrel of a gun had already been shoved in front of her face. This man apparently would not prevaricate in a fight, and was ready to disable, disarm, and eliminate with no hesitation.

"Tifa!" Cloud's voice filled up the hospital.

The assassin's attention was slightly distracted, enough for her to smack the gun away from his hand. With a bang, the pistol went off as she swiped it away. Tifa took a split second to bear the noise of the loud pistol, noticing that he had taken off the suppressor on it. She then rolled forward and kicked upwards with a spring, knocking the assassin backwards onto a tray of medical utensils. Regaining balance, Tifa stood in her fighting stance, prepared to fight and defeat the murderer, almost completely confident in her own ability to do so.

Getting back up from crashing into the medical tray, the hitman removed his sunglasses and put them away. His eyes had completely surprised her. They were so…similar to Rude's, in the way that they showed signs of weathering and mystery. The ferocity behind them was something new for her, and one stare completely threw her off.

Shaking her thought away, Tifa threw a punch that he quickly evaded, and he even managed to land a blow to her gut, which was surprising for her. Obviously, he was no normal citizen. She threw a flurry of attacks for him to receive, but he managed to parry most of them. Almost immediately, though, he caught her right arm and elbowed her in her side, which caused a sharp, chilling, painful sensation to seize her body. Following that, he landed a strike right under the jaw and one more to the abdomen, which nearly knocked the air out of her. Still holding on to her arm, he managed to seize a good portion of her upper body and threw her over his shoulder with a powerful toss, all in a matter of a few seconds. He possessed surprising speed, because none of her previous enemies had disabled her so quickly before.

As she lay on the ground, still dizzy from his shoulder throw, he sprinted after the gun she had smacked away. She could hear Cloud's shouting of "Stop!" and "No!" along with the sounds of his footsteps when he rushed over to her.

The assassin picked up his handgun, but when he stood up, his face met with Reno's impact club, which barely managed to hit him when he attempted to dodge it. He stumbled backwards with a scratch on his cheek and stood up, ready to fight once again. Reno took a few swings, but the hitman seemed to fight harder against the redhead than he did Tifa. The frustration of delay was causing him to push himself. Quickly, he managed to grab hold of Reno's club and—since it was tied to his wrist—swung the attached cord around the redhead's neck in an attempt to strangle him.

"Tifa, are you okay?" Cloud said, holding her gently in his arms. His caring eyes were all she could see when she looked up at him.

She let out a soft smile. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Stay here," he then said. "I'll deal with him."

Reno was suffocating, but from behind, Rude punched the man in the side, which caused him to let out a grunt of pain. He let Reno go, who was now incapacitated. The assassin rolled forward and grabbed the pistol, only to notice that Reno had already snatched the magazine out of it. Rude exchanged a few hits with the assassin, managing to knock him backwards, until they finally got a good look at each other.

"Damian?" Rude asked.

The presumed Damian had paused for a moment, but did not respond. Apparently the assassin did not recognize Rude at all. In a quick flash, Damian gripped the barrel-end of his gun and took a swing of it at Rude. Rude was hit in the head by the bottom end of the gun and he staggered backwards, falling next to Reno.

By now, two guards had rushed upstairs with fair-length clubs, and attempted to attack Damian. The hitman easily disarmed the two and destroyed their ability to fight back by knocking them out with their own weapons.

A sting was felt along the assassin's back as something hard had hit him when he stood up. Cloud stood in front of him with the wood from a mop stick in his hand, wielding it like a blade. Apparently, much to Cloud's ignorance, the weapon would prove to be quite useless in a closed corridor area.

Cloud found himself swinging the mop stick easily, managing to lay a few hard blows on the assassin. After taking a few painful blows, Damian finally blocked a strike with one of the guards' clubs and gripped the tip of the wooden weapon. Fiercely, he pulled on the stick, which threw Cloud towards his direction. With Cloud headed towards him, he swung the club with full force, landing a hard blow to the spiky haired SOLDIER's head.

The assassin was tired, almost completely drained of energy by disabling all of his adversaries, and now he would have to kill them. He walked over to the gun and grabbed it, snatching the magazine clip from Reno's hand, and loading it into the firearm. As Tifa stood up to try the assassin again, he pointed the gun at her, causing her hold her hands up.

"Who are you working for?" the brooding voice said. "Answer me."

His voice was hauntingly forceful, bearing a strange hostility to it. Tifa had her hands up and shook her head. "I…I work for no one."

"You spoke to me at the traffic crossing," he then said, bringing up their small conversation. "Who is your employer?"

"I work for no one," she repeated.

He was just about to pull the trigger when he heard several footsteps rushing down the adjacent hallway between them.

"Follow me, and I won't hesitate," the man warned, hoping she understood what he meant.

Instinctively, he was forced to lower his weapon and take the stairs nearby, leaving them alone, luckily. Tifa rushed to the downed fighters and examined their wounds, which were fairly non-lethal when she concluded. A few bruises here and there, and that might be it. She rushed over to Rude.

"Are you okay?" she asked him.

The bald man stood up and rubbed his head. "I'll be fine. You should check on Strife."

As Rude helped Reno up, she went over to Cloud, whose eyes were beginning to open.

"Hey," she said with a loving smile. "Are you alright?"

Cloud sat up and massaged his temples, letting out groans of pain. "How pathetic."

She giggled to his light tone and helped him up. The two stood there for an awkward moment as they brushed themselves off from the just-happened scene. She was surprised that he didn't beat himself up over the loss of the bad guy, which showed that he was finally letting go of his harsh reactions to failure. Cloud dusted himself off and even gave her a grin as they turned to eye the two Turks as they stumbled to get up.

"Well, fellas," Cloud said, putting his hands on his waist and blowing his spiky blond hair out of the way. "Where to start, where to start…"

* * *

"What's going on with VICE?" Rude asked his superior as they drove along.

Damian flicked his finished cigarette out the window. "It behooves you to keep questions to yourself."

"So you won't tell me?" he asked.

The Agent took out a stick of gum and began chewing on it to get rid of the tobacco smell. "I'll tell you when the time comes. Until then, you'll have to wait."

About an hour or two had already passed since Damian's meeting with Angeal and Tseng. The Sector 5 slums was in much worse condition than it had ever been, with several of the deserted buildings making the place seem like a war zone. Today, the atmosphere was slow and exhausted, with the biting cold chill coming in for winter. Sometimes, the upper plates would open up several slots to let in some light, and snow flakes would fall with it, giving children a happiness that rarely came around.

"How long do you think it'll last?" Rude asked, reverting back to the original question about VICE.

Damian, seeming not to care about the question, shrugged with an insensible attitude. "Maybe a few months. Who knows?"

"What'll we do when things come to an end?" Rude then asked.

The veteran looked at his recruit. "What are _you_ going to do?"

The bald man shrugged, thinking about what Cissnei had said. "I might…I dunno…look for a job in the Turks. This Agent thing should be a good springboard for other jobs."

Anticipating some sort of bitter remark, Rude noticed that Damian shrugged to his response. The veteran was awfully low-key today.

"Whatever you want to do."

"What about you?" Rude then asked, noticing his annoying array of questions.

Damian looked like he knew something, but vacillated on whether to tell or not. In fact, for the first time, he looked _troubled_. Before Rude could say anything, he responded, "I don't know. Perhaps a job somewhere. Maybe not this type of work anymore."

In all honesty, Rude couldn't picture Damian doing any other type of work. Damian was just too good at what he did; perhaps he grew sick of it. The human mind can only take so much, which meant that even people like Damian can grow sick of VICE, the crime fighter's wet dream. Rude almost smirked at that, knowing the utter ridicule of the substitute term, "crime fighting," because termination protocols would not be widely accepted by simple "crime fighting" personnel. Termination protocol after another, the workload was absolutely tiring to the point where Rude plainly became numb after the fourth. Assassinations would be more like it, however. It was becoming clear to him why VICE was always so deep behind the curtain. The entirety of the unit was still a mystery to him, though.

"I never thought you'd be the person to give up," Rude said.

Damian, with another calm look, gave a slight smirk. "I'm lying. I don't think I'll ever get away from this profession."

The vehicle cruised past a few rundown homes. Rude reflected on the way Damian spoke his last sentence, realizing the calm, yet lifeless tone applied to it. Not only was Damian low-key today, but he even showed hints of withdrawal. The recruit was not exactly sure, though, since his commanding officer was undoubtedly good at blocking face-readers—especially psychologists.

A bike came into view as it started whizzing towards the vehicle. Some shouts could be heard from the distance as they watched the kid on the bicycle gripping onto a woman's wallet in one of his hands.

"Uh oh," Rude commented.

He didn't expect Damian to leave the car.

"I'll get this," Damian murmured.

The bald novice raised an eyebrow as Damian took off his sunglasses and stormed out of the automobile. The bike had just passed by when the veteran began sprinting after it. Letting out a groan of frustration, Rude reached over for Damian's sunglasses and slipped them on while staring into the mirror.

_Hmm. Not bad._ He thought to himself, realizing that he looked quite good in sunglasses. Damian's weren't the type, though, and he needed smaller frames to match his bald head. Perhaps a suit like Damian's would be nice, too, instead of dressing so generically all the time.

The bald man got out of the vehicle and took a stretch while his partner dashed after the speeding bike, which was well faster than any normal human speed. With a yawn, the man in sunglasses observed Damian's progress.

_What the hell?!_

Damian had gained tremendous speed and tackled the kid off the bike, both of them landing on the sidewalk. What surprised Rude even more was Damian's athleticism, because he was sure that no normal human being could have chased down a bike like that. A person would have to be in tip top shape to do what Damian did. Since they were undercover cops, anyway, being in SOLDIER shape wasn't on the top of the priority list, but Damian's agility was nearly shocking.

Rude's train of thought was cut off when Damian pulled out his handgun and shoved it into the kid's temple, pushing his head into the sidewalk. The recruit sprinted after his superior.

Behind him as he ran, he noticed a woman around his age, perhaps a bit younger than he, speeding towards Damian and the kid, as well. She was probably the woman who had lost her wallet. Rude stopped when he reached his partner, leaving the woman trailing behind him.

"Whose wallet is this?" Damian asked in a composed voice. "Tell me right now, or I'll blow brains out all over the damn sidewalk and make your mother come out to scrape what's left of you."

Usually, Damian wouldn't break out in these violent episodes, especially towards a child. But, to Rude, there was very little new in what was happening.

"Just take it, man!" the kid struggled to say. "I don't want it anymore!"

Rude was just about to speak.

"Stop! Sir!" a feminine voice shouted from behind. She ran over and slowed down next to Rude, catching her breath. "Please. I know this child. I was letting him deliver my wallet back to my mother's house."

Damian pulled the gun away and gave her a suspicious look, though his look was rather amused, likely a response to her attractive appearance. She was a brunette woman, shorter than Damian, and had bangs followed by two long spirals of wavy hair, all in front of longer hair that was beautifully braided and tied. Rude also noticed how her astonishingly captivating green eyes somewhat tamed Damian's predatory eyes, though he knew the veteran was far from being so.

"Really?" Damian asked in skepticism, letting go of the boy. "Well, I guess your shouting after the boy who had your wallet was just a kind reminder, then."

The young woman blushed nervously and turned away, though Damian kept a close eye on her. "I-It's true! You don't have any jurisdiction around here anyway. What right do you have to seize this poor child?"

Damian flashed a pleased grin to Rude, who only half-frowned in return. Rude still had Damian's glasses on.

"Miss," Damian started, pulling out his badge and showing it to her. "We actually have full jurisdiction here."

"It doesn't matter," she somewhat pouted. "That doesn't justify your rough behavior with this boy; this boy that I know."

"He certainly knows you well enough to catch you off guard and steal from you like that," Damian muttered casually, putting his hands on his waist.

"I told you he wasn't stealing!" she rejected his intentions.

He let out a laugh. "Well, you're certainly defensive about it."

"So?" she said. "I have every right as a citizen to defend justice."

Rude could've sworn he let out a chuckle, as well, but only Damian's laugh could be heard. "You know, I enjoy the presence of naïve girls."

She let out an expression of surprise, her eyes widening to his words. "W-what?! No, I'm not naïve…"

"Want to know why I like them so much?" Damian said, edging just a bit closer to her. "Because they're easy."

"I said I'm not naïve," she retorted, crossing her arms together.

Damian raised an eyebrow. "I never said you were, but you're certainly quick to point out that you weren't. How naïve of you."

She let out a gasp of disgust and looked away.

Rude's eyes turned toward each person as the conversation flung back and forth, both of them debating and even implying insults towards one another. The boy stood at his side and watched the two of them duke it out in an argument for…nothing. Crossing his arms, the recruit accepted this as a form of entertainment for the day. All he needed was popcorn.

"_And_ you're lying just to help this boy go free," Damian pointed out, "which is, of course, a lost cause because we already know the truth here."

"I am not lying," she said, sticking out a tongue at him. The woman crossed her arms and looked away. "This boy was helping me."

"Well, I'll tell you what, Green Eyes," Damian said. "I think you're lying, but if you're telling the truth, then you owe me…"

She peeked at him just a bit as he stood there, pondering on what to say next with a hand over his forehead. Rude was surprised that she was still around, first arguing with Damian, and was now listening to him.

"Owe you what?" she asked, getting impatient. The woman played with the fabric on her neat, medium-length yellow skirt.

Damian lowered his hand and a suave expression assembled on his face. "A date."

Rude almost broke out with laughter in lieu of his serious manner while the situation escalated. He couldn't believe Damian's attitude right now.

"A…date?" she then asked semi-curiously, still nervously holding up a guard to his initial behavior. "For what!?"

"It's the least you owe me," he said with a smirk. "I didn't chase after your little friend for nothing."

"No!" she hesitantly refused. "I'm not going on a date with you whether you like it or not."

He shot her a subtle grin. "I never said I'd like to take you. I said you owed me one."

Then came the look. Rude saw that Damian noticed this in the woman he spoke to; the kind of look where a woman was undoubtedly interested in you but tried to hide all symptoms of it. Actually, this look was a symptom.

"If you let this kid go free, then fine, you have a date," she said with a teasing antagonism, burying her nervous expressions.

Damian easily held a hand out to the kid. "Truce?"

The kid, almost completely forgotten what had just happened between him and Damian, begrudgingly shook the man's hand, possibly for the woman's sake.

"You got it, mister," the boy said.

The veteran gave her another smile. "Holland Diner. Sector 6. Thursday, 10 AM. I'm paying."

"How do you know if I won't show up?" she asked with curiosity.

"I don't. But you've already made that decision," Damian noted.

"I could always change my mind."

He smirked. "Sure. But you won't."

A rosy pink colored her cheeks as a subtle smile appeared at her lips.

Rude glanced down at his watch and let out an exhalation, obviously waiting for Damian to call it a day, now, since he snatched himself a date.

"Yeah, Damian, it's kind of late," he said, bringing up his intentions of having the day off. She glanced at the bald man for a moment, receiving and processing the name 'Damian' before heading off. "Let's uh…call it a day…"

"Come on," the woman then said to the boy. "Let's go."

"I'll see you later, Green Eyes," Damian said, swiftly snatching the sunglasses from Rude, who flinched in reaction.

She spun around on her heels, her yellow skirt twirling in the wind.

"I _have_ a name, 'Officer' Damian," she said.

"I wouldn't mind if it was Green Eyes," Damian said, happy to notice how quickly she recalled his name.

A subtle, entrancing smile appeared at the tip of her lips as she looked towards him over her shoulder while walking away.

"It's Aerith."

It looked like Damian took a second or two to sound the name out in his head. He smirked and put on the sunglasses.

"See you Thursday, Green Eyes," Damian departed, leaving her with a groan of frustration.

Rude sighed and followed along.

**Heh. Like it? Aerith will play a role, but she'll be more oriented towards Damian's side, in which we will discover more of Rude's commanding officer. Hope you guys enjoyed it, and please review. Until next time.**


	9. Rumors of the Hunter

**It's been another week, and here's another chapter. This one's more focused on Damian's character; about how others see and think of him. Though it's been little by little in each of the other chapters, this one will be a considerable focus on our VICE agent. Along with that, this chapter is more for the sake of character background, so it'll be full of dialogue. Read, and enjoy.**

**Chapter 9: Rumors of the Hunter**

"I haven't been here before," she noted, sitting very securely—almost nervously—in her seat. "It's a nice place, though."

Damian gave a slight smirk. "I'm usually here in the morning."

Aerith didn't know what to think of him. The last time she saw him, he was some brutal officer who had a gun to a kid's head. His air was different than originally perceived. What also surprised her were his facial expressions; sometimes they seemed clear as day, yet other times, his expressions were empty. This was all in the last few minutes, too.

"So, you're an officer, Damian?" she asked him, her green eyes carefully dissecting his.

He took a sip of his coffee and set the mug down. "It's complicated. Yes and no."

"Do you work for Shinra Security?" she then asked.

Damian shook his head with some laughter. "God, no. I'm in a government department. We do all kinds of work. Detective, enforcement, stuff like that."

"I haven't met a government person before," she stated. "You guys sure seem to be a lot saner than Shinra, that's for sure."

He sipped some more coffee, then engaged her with his gaze. She could feel his presence as his stare honed into her eyes. "You don't know that. What if we're crazier?"

"I don't have any reason to believe so," she stated blindly, clasping her hands together with a sweet smile. "You're a nice guy."

Damian grinned at her naïveté. "A polite face is designed to hide insanity. Many people have polite faces."

Aerith giggled to his response. "Not everyone can be insane. I'm starting to think _you_ are."

"Yep, I'm insane," he replied. "Because I'm never wrong. When nothing seems wrong to you, you're likely insane."

She interlaced her fingers and rested her chin on them, still keeping an eye on the enforcer. He was much different than any other person she had met. Usually, she could tell how all of her friends were feeling and thinking immediately, and she would be able to help them. This man was different to her; a special air about him sparked much fascination. The subtlety behind each expression hid another one. Aerith found herself gazing dreamily into his eyes.

"Don't be so intrigued," Damian noted, breaking her thought. "You've got beautiful eyes, too, Aerith."

She sat back in her seat and put a hand to her mouth with a silent gasp, her face reddened from his remark. "But you have such interesting eyes."

"Really? I find them rather dull," Damian said with little surprise. "Then again, a lot of girls I speak to can't help but look into them."

"I'm curious. Where did you come from, Damian?" she suddenly asked. "You don't seem to be the type that was born in Midgar."

"Curious, huh?" he said. A slight discomfort in him could be sensed, though she wasn't sure. It was almost as if his mind reprogrammed, filtering out certain information and withholding other facts. "I don't want to get into details, but I came from Central City."

"The capitol," she commented with a nod.

He returned a nod to her. "Yeah. I was raised in the middle-class areas."

She didn't take his reply completely, since there was something mysterious behind his statement; something she hesitated to trust. Her curiosity only heightened even though she knew that asking more would be intruding.

"What made you come to Midgar, then?" she asked.

Damian gave her a subtle smirk. "That would be telling."

She bit her lip just slightly and looked away, her curiosity piqued by his cryptic behavior.

"Then I won't ask you why you're a government agent, because then you'd have to get into details, right?" she mentioned sharply, a faintly magnetic smile appearing on her face.

"Right," he replied with a slightly raised eyebrow. "But you're still _curious_."

A glow of red could be seen on her face as he took another sip of his coffee.

* * *

"He mentioned two names," Tifa recited. "One was a Raven…the other was…"

Rude's eyes shot towards her. "Scott Raven and Karen Wolfe."

"Friends of yours?" Reno asked.

The bald man leaned against the bar counter and shook his head. "No. But I know their work."

"Their work?" Cloud then asked, crossing his arms together. "…which implies…"

"They're former VICE agents," Rude clarified, quickly debunking all other suspicions.

The blond scratched his head a bit. "That organization you talked about earlier?"

Rude nodded. "They're likely targets as of now. The government probably wants to clean up this…mess."

"I don't see any mess," Reno muttered, somewhat bitter that they hadn't spoken about Rude's participation in VICE before. "Unless you're alluding to something we don't know about."

His partner took that comment with no reaction, though Rude felt that the comment was negatively inclined. "I'll explain later. Right now, all we need is…some time. I'll have to track down both Raven and Wolfe before he can hit them."

"That man who killed Huxley…" Tifa started, looking away with a somber expression. "Was that who I thought it was? The way you described…Damian…was perfect."

Rude nodded. "I'm fairly certain that it's Damian. No other person could have downed us so quickly."

"How _did_ he do that?" Reno asked with ridicule in Damian's ability. The redhead gestured towards Cloud. "I mean, he even bested Blondie here."

"Damian's…" Rude started, almost looking troubled. It seemed as though he didn't want to explain. "He isn't…"

Reno unfolded his arms and stood up straight. "Oh? So there _is_ something that we should know about. That **I** should have known about."

"No…it's…"

Reno raised an eyebrow. "It's definitely something you haven't told me before."

"It's just…"

"Just what?"

The room was silent for a few seconds as the tension began to rise.

"I don't have for petty explanations," Rude then said with a startling abruptness. "If you three will excuse me, I have to dig up some information."

With that, the bald man stepped hastily out of the bar, closing the door with a loud bang behind him. Reno bit his lip and sighed, shutting his eyes and taking deep breaths to calm himself down. It was unusual for Rude to be frustrated, as the redhead pushed the issue on him a little too hard.

"Nice job, Reno," Tifa muttered with sarcasm, heading out the door with worry.

Rude walked towards the car and unlocked the door. It was getting late in the afternoon, and the sun was just getting ready to sink into the horizon for the night, smearing the edges of the sky with a soft orange. He noticed footsteps approaching, but ignored them and continued walking to the car.

"Rude, wait," Tifa ordered, her arms folded to keep herself warm. The sunset usually left coldness in the streets since it was nearing fall.

A clenching voice, she had. Rude almost immediately stopped, if not for his utter frustration.

"Please," she then said. "Reno didn't mean it. He's just angry that—"

"That I didn't tell him irrelevant information?" he said, cutting her off. "I don't want to be here anymore. I must either reach Raven and Wolfe or track down Damian myself."

He still had his back to her, which limited their connection even more. "He got the best of us today. It's alright, we'll get him next time."

"You don't understand," Rude then said, turning around to face her. Her worried, soft, wine red eyes weakened his hard appearance.

"What do I not understand?" she asked sincerely. "Damian is a killer. So?"

Rude immediately took off his sunglasses, his eyes radiating a much intense look. She felt downsized as those striking predatory eyes pierced her. It was Damian's look, of course. "He could have killed us if he wanted."

"But you explained to us earlier that he's likely a government agent, right? So he'll spare us?" she asked tensely. "Isn't that what Huxley said?"

"Huxley lied," Rude sharply snapped. "There is no VICE rebellion. The government is purging all of those who were in contact with its most prominent members. If Damian had recognized me, he would have killed me. And you."

She sighed and looked away from his harsh stare, which caused his expression to soften. "How do you know that?"

"Because Damian isn't what he looks like," Rude muttered calmly. "He's…he's not to be taken lightly."

"Why is that?" she asked, her gaze coming back up to face his.

Rude waited for a moment, thinking whether to tell her or not. He took a breath and raised the sunglasses back up to his eyes, hiding them behind the dark frames that buried all noticeable life in his face.

"I'll tell you when the time comes. Until then, you'll have to wait," he promised in his composed tone, delivering it in such similar patterns to how Damian would say.

Tifa sighed and rubbed her arms for warmth. "I'll never know what you're hiding, will I?"

"You mean aspects of this case?" Rude asked.

"No, aspects of _you_."

He turned away with a troubled expression, noticing her ever-fretful look. "Don't concern yourself with me. Right now, I'm nothing but trouble, so stay safe…and away."

"Don't box me out like that," she then said. "We're all in this together."

"This entire ordeal revolves around me," Rude replied, opening the car door. "And I'm going to stop Damian before he does more damage."

She watched as he lowered the window, somehow wanting to say some more, but the words could not compose. "Rude, please…"

"Stay out of trouble," he ordered, reverting to his poised sense of being.

He stepped on the pedal of the vehicle and went down the street, wondering where to start first. With a sigh, the bald Turk glanced outside and watched as people returned home and went out for the night, minding their own businesses and candidly trudging through life without the slightest clue of people like him. No matter how much he tried, Rude had trouble seeing himself joining their ranks. There were too many secrets held in his mind; too many ghosts that crept in the darkest parts of the psyche. Rude's focus was broken when he noticed a sign that read: "Donate to the Child's Fund Now! Please support the children with no home and no parents. Together, we can save the future."

Jacobson. Perhaps Jacobson would be a suitable person to give information on his former training officer. After all, men like Jacobson usually knew what was happening on the streets since he always had eyes out for anything suspicious. Rude glanced at his watch and noticed that it was only 8:00 PM. Usually, Jacobson's club would still be open. Either way, he was going to get information _tonight_.

* * *

Victor munched on the ever-so-heart-healthy donut quite thoughtfully, observing how Damian (almost enthusiastically) entered the headquarters and exited. This girl was probably setting him straight, because Damian would frequently plow through his investigations. Why? Because Damian was very much the workaholic, constantly getting a week's work done in only a few days. How long has it been? One week? Two? It had been some time since Damian first met her.

"I don't get it," Victor said, taking a sip of his lemon-lime soda that rested on his desk. "Usually he's in a shit mood."

The older man who stood next to him gave a shrug. "This chick must be the real deal if she can tame Damian."

Rude shot an absurd look at Agent Scott Raven, one of the top operatives in VICE. Agent Raven was legendary, holding just about as many cases as Damian and perhaps even gathered more incarceration years. Of course, that was only because Damian preferred resorting to termination protocols rather than arrests, but it didn't mean Raven ever did any T-Pro's. Raven's medium-length, jet-black hair was slicked back nicely, and his outfitting was similar to Damian's, except that Raven lacked the aggressive look. However, the tall man had an interesting air about him; such that his calmness radiated a sense of deceptive danger. Though he was more laid-back, his abilities as an agent were extraordinary.

"What do you mean by that?" Rude asked, questioning Raven's statement.

Raven shrugged, crossing his arms together after adjusting his dress shirt. "Well, you don't know Damian as well as I do, but…"

"But…?"

"The guy's record is likely fake," he more than suggested. "With Damian's outrageous work 'ethic,' his true record probably exceeds the recorded stats."

Rude raised an eyebrow, fixing his newly-bought sunglasses that matched his facial structure perfectly. "You mean some records have been deleted? Like what?"

"You didn't hear anything from me," Raven then said, prepared to disclose information to Rude. "Anyway, there're a lot of rumors as to the crazy shit Damian has done. This past month alone, he's done over 15 solo termination protocols and only 5 have gone on record. I've even heard the bosses discussing with him the assassination of four 1st Class SOLDIERs one time."

"Yeah, right," Rude cynically replied. "I know Damian's good, but come on, 1st Class? That's like…four _Angeals_."

"I _said_ you didn't hear it from me," Raven emphasized. "And also take notice on how he never likes to talk about himself. We don't know anything about his home life at all; only the stuff that happens out in the streets with those idiot gangsters. He's hiding a lot from us. And have you seen him fight before? The guy's hand-to-hand is nearly unmatched around here…well, **I** could give him some trouble in a fight, but that's beside the point."

Rude shrugged, but then remembered about Damian chasing the boy on the bicycle, which was going considerably fast. "Come to think of it, he's shown some ridiculously impressive human abilities. Do they super-train VICE members at all? Because I want to know if there's going to be some training after I reach Agent."

"No," Raven shook his head, reaching for his coffee. "Damian has always been Damian. There's nothing I know of that's been applied since his entrance to VICE four years ago."

All of this talk about Damian caused the veteran to glance over at them while shuffling through some papers. Rude and Raven looked away to avoid suspicion.

"What are you guys staring for?" Damian asked, walking over to the two VICE workers. "You guys hiding something?"

Raven shook his head. "Uh…no. We were talking about the donuts."

"And your girlfriend," Rude half-confessed.

Damian gave the two a suspicious stare before scoffing. "Quit the jealousy."

"Is she important to you?" Raven asked, somehow shifting the mood of the conversation.

It was as if he questioned Damian's faith in his own work. Damian shook his head automatically. "It's a bit early for those kinds of questions."

"Relax," Raven assured. "I'm just busting your balls."

"Whatever," Damian passively noted.

Raven chuckled, noticing Damian's indifference to those personal questions. In fact, they seemed to be automatic now, and everyone was used to having him shun their personal questions. "What was her name again?"

"Aerith," Rude said, causing Damian to give him a scowl. "It was Aerith Gainsborough."

Just at that moment, Raven showed an expression of surprise, catching both Rude and Damian's attention. "Woah, wait. Aerith Gainsborough?"

"That's what he just said. You didn't hear him?" Damian said sharply.

"Wait, wait," Raven said, pausing the dialogue for a moment while he was sifting memories. "She's got brown hair, green eyes, right?"

The veteran nodded. "Yeah, are you spying on her?"

"No," his colleague shook his head. "But the Turks are."

A look of surprise came onto Damian's face, but he resorted to an unlikely initial response. "Tell me more."

"Don't know, man," Raven answered. "All I know is that she's hot property right now, and that Tseng personally watches over her. Hell, he might have even spied on _you_ already. Since we're half-government, some suspicions might have already risen."

Rude raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by hot property?"

"Shinra is closely watching her," Raven restated. "Watching my steps would be an excellent tactic right about now."

"So is that a warning?" Damian asked.

"I don't know. Does it sound like one?"

"Yes, but very unnecessary," the veteran said. "And you know why."

Raven nodded. "Of course."

The confusion that had set into Victor was buried by the exchange between the two agents, who completely ignored the young recruit. It was only a few seconds before he noticed that Damian and Raven had walked away to carry their conversation somewhere else, much to his bewilderment. However, just as they left the room, his cell phone rang, prompting him to answer it.

"Hello?"

"Hey Victor, it's me, Cissnei, from the Turks," a strangely familiar voice greeted. "Remember me?"

"What is it?" Rude asked, avoiding the general greeting. He found himself to be significantly more abrupt than he used to be, sometimes avoiding reactions such as greetings; when it was all business, he saw them as useless. And the Turks were all business.

"Would you like to have lunch sometime? I know a great place in Sector 8."

The offer surprised him. Rude had already gained a vague understanding of how the Turks worked, and he wouldn't completely fall into her proposal.

"What is it about?"

"Meaning?"

"Well, you're a Turk. I've little reason to trust you, if any."

She giggled over the line. "Don't worry, I won't bite. I want to speak to you about your organization. Don't _you_ want to know what's going on, as well?"

"So you're interrogating me?" Rude questioned. "What's the payoff?"

"Answers," she replied. "I think there's more to VICE than you know, along with a few of its members. I'm not even sure of what's happening yet, and I've only uncertainties about what truly goes on. I mean, haven't you spoken to any of your superiors yet?"

"We're more of a divided organization," Rude said. "I'm at the department now, but there isn't much that goes on here. Usually people just come here to exchange info."

"About?"

"None of your business."

Cissnei giggled again. "You're good. VICE must be a true un-organization, then."

"We're always behind the curtain," Rude boasted, repeating Damian's words.

"So will you meet up?" she asked again, regressing back to the original topic. "Agent Hunter seems pretty busy with that girl right now…"

Rude subtly sighed, especially when she noted Damian's current relationship. "What if I don't want to talk about VICE?"

"Then it should be a nice lunch," she responded.

He rubbed his neck with some uncertainty, and after a noticeable silence, he knew that she recognized his wavering.

"Fine, I'll buy," Cissnei added with a sigh.

Rude let out a small groan to acknowledge her comment. "Alright, fine. Where?"

**Well, I think that's a good place to stop for now. I assure you the next chapter will NOT be dull, so stay tuned, and hopefully I'll get the next chapter done by next week. Thanks for reading, and please review!**


	10. Inevitability

**Well, this is one hell of a chapter, I'll tell you that, because it's my longest chapter so far (clocking in at over 6000 words!), and it's packed with a bunch of crazy stuff. Much more insight is placed into the plot, along with another confrontation. At a literal level, this chapter is labeled INTENSE, so read, and enjoy. **

**Chapter 10: Inevitability**

"What do you think of this one?" Aerith asked, showing Damian the small, but intricately grown flower.

Damian sat on the bench inside the church and looked at the yellow petals, smiling blankly. "It looks beautiful."

"Really? You think so?" she asked. She noticed his face and sensed a bit of disinterest in the flowers, leaving her with a discouraged look. "You don't mean that, do you?"

"Of course I do," Damian said, probably lying. "I'm just very…surprised that flowers would grow down in this church. I haven't seen a flower in awhile. It's refreshing to see one."

Every response had a strange dullness behind it, and she sensed it. But, Aerith knew that his intent was good, so she lightened up with a smile. She stood up and walked over to the bench, sitting next to him.

"My mother always told me that flowers down here symbolized life," she told him, staring at the flowers. "She said that I was the reason why the flowers grew, because I took care of them, tended to them, and watered them whenever I could. After that, she told me that I myself symbolized life, but I knew that it was just something she'd say so that I would feel special."

Damian, somewhat uncomfortable with how he should respond, allowed himself to speak naturally instead of his usual sharp remarks. "You don't know that. She's probably telling the truth."

"And how do you know that?" she asked him, looking back at him. "Did _you_ have a mother who would tell you those things?"

He didn't answer. Instead, he opened his mouth to say something but failed, and turned away.

"Please, Damian," she said. "We've been together for a few weeks now. I want to know who you are."

Obviously, it was difficult for him to speak about himself. Damian didn't seem to be ashamed, though, yet he was still uncomfortable.

He grinded his teeth and swallowed with difficulty. "I never had a mother. Nor did I have a father."

She felt some sympathy for him. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," Damian said. "Eventually, we all learn how to live one way or another. I was adopted, and had somewhat of a father."

"Really?" she asked. "What was he like?"

"He never liked me," he answered. "Only because I was never his own. I wasn't his blood, but he kept me under a roof nonetheless. Often, he'd get drunk and beat me for being out so long because I was at school."

She listened as he told his story to her, but it still felt as though he was omitting a few things from her.

"Then one day I found out why I was placed under his guardianship," Damian said. "I was infuriated. By then, I learned how to distrust, to hate, to lie, to take advantage. I understood why it was so perfectly controlled."

"What was?"

"I found out that I was no one," Damian then said. "And my adoptive father was no one. He was just a man with a face, put there to simulate a lifestyle…and to condition me."

Aerith saw the discomfort in his face, a constant emotion that ran through his small monologue.

"What do you mean by that?" she asked.

Damian sighed and shook his head. "That's a story for another time."

"You've been through a lot," she acknowledged. "Is that why you have to be hard on people sometimes? For your job?"

She was accepting to him, even after he had told her fairly more about his job during their first few dates. Aerith saw a look in Damian's face, like something new within her was revealed to him. She was willing to understand him, and even if she didn't, she knew that he would be a bit more comfortable when she tried.

"Do you think we were put here for a reason?" she then asked when he was unresponsive.

"Everyone's put here for a reason," Damian said, becoming a bit more comfortable. "The hard part is finding it."

"So you believe in fate, then?"

He shook his head. "No. Nothing is set in stone. There are only circumstances, and your will. You can either work with the circumstances or against them."

"Do you work against your circumstances?" she then asked.

"No."

"Why not?"

"I don't know."

She smiled. "I don't see any reason to work against mine, either."

"Good," Damian plainly commented, supposedly uninterested in what her reason was.

Aerith leaned on his shoulder while they sat in the church, the slow day burning away. It was calm and relaxing, almost as though time itself had stopped. Before she could drift away into a trance, Damian spoke up.

"Would you like to go to lunch with me?" he asked.

Her head lifted up from his shoulder. "Where should we go?"

"I want to go to Sector 8," Damian said.

She was afraid of the world above, and she had told him numerous times already. Why would he ask to go to lunch up there? A troubled expression showed itself on her face and she looked down.

"Damian, you know I'm scared…"

He gave her a placating smile. "I know, but there's no reason to be afraid. It's not like they will immediately single you out or anything."

Aerith gave it some thought, somewhat disappointed for half-expecting some kind of heroic response. Yet, his voice commanded such reassurance with his last few words, though she still possessed some uncertainty in going to the outside world.

"Shouldn't you visit the upper plate at least once in your life?" he asked her. "It's a great place to be."

"Why should I go, though…?"

He shrugged. "Probably because you're more fit to live up there than down here."

After a few more seconds, she looked up to him and smiled.

"Okay, Damian, but you're paying, right?" she asked.

"Sure," he said begrudgingly, as if he had forgotten about it.

* * *

The bouncer had let Rude in through the back. It was the same bouncer that Rude had struck in the neck about a week or two ago when he and Reno came to collect money for the Child's Fund. Rude noticed that the club was already shutting down for the night. There was no music, no visitors, nothing. The only people around were employees cleaning up so they can open next afternoon. It wasn't very late, and usually clubs would stay open until 3 or even 4 AM. Then again, they closed early on Sundays.

As he made his way past the bar, heading upstairs, he reflected on the situation that had befallen him. There were sudden memories resurfacing so quickly that Rude didn't know how to bottle them back up. He hated thinking of the tragedies of the past, the moments where things could have gone a different way. There was always an 'if' tickling the back of his brain no matter how much he tried to accept what had happened. And now death was running loose, come back to destroy what he had and what he was building.

Thoughts of Tifa also nagged at his mind. He had never been so involved with his former adversaries before. The last time he could remember being involved in a group was when Geostigma was cured. From that day forward, Rufus had wanted to change everything about the world, more than when Shinra could no longer use mako in for energy. The struggle for putting away the use of the Lifestream was somewhat successful. As of the cure for Geostigma, no one had materia anymore. No one. And this was all over a period of about 6 months. Now, the world was balanced with a frightening realism.

Rude was somewhat pleased with the world, but he was never content for himself. Could this be _his_ moment? Would anyone see him as differently if he managed to stop Damian? Honestly, he did not prefer glorification, but he wouldn't mind being seen as a hero.

Now, why would he want to be a hero? Such desires are unreachable, especially with Rude's way of thinking. Unlike Cloud or Tifa, Rude was more of a pragmatist, knowing when to fight and when to hide; knowing who to spare and who to kill. He cursed Damian's influence on him, because he was in a world where heroes, nobility, and hope neighbored the criminals, corrupt, and the killers.

Still, he was subconsciously hopeful with the chance that was given to him. More importantly, though, was the security of his other colleagues. Damian was pure danger, and he wouldn't have the luxury of performing heroic acts to defeat him. Even worse, submerging good-hearted people like Tifa into his world wouldn't generate positive results.

Rude walked to the top of the stairs and found the two robotic bodyguards guarding the door to Jacobson's office.

One of them spoke up. "So, you have returned."

"Might I ask why?" the other followed.

"I'm here to speak with Jacobson," Rude answered. "My business is my own."

"The boss is not busy at the moment—"

"So perhaps your entry will be permitted."

The two slightly intimidated bodyguards stepped aside and opened the doors for the bald man.

Jacobson sat lazily, shuffling through papers with small piles of money stacked at the corner of the desk. It looked as though he didn't notice Rude's entry into his quarters. Rude walked in and stood in front of the desk for a full ten seconds.

"Why are you back?" Jacobson asked, his voice tired and drawn out. "You're looking for more money?"

Rude shook his head. "I'm looking for information."

"All of my informants are dead," Jacobson said. "Sadly."

His indifference was interesting. No. It didn't seem as though he was indifferent, though, but hopeless.

"Who did it?" Rude asked.

"Probably some punk who thinks he's a badass," Jacobson told him. "I've got guns on the streets looking for him right now. What the hell do you want?"

Rude's face was still. "VICE. Tell me about it."

"Don't tell me that you're involved, too," Jacobson muttered. "So you know that the government is after me, right?"

"Yes. Tell me what you know so I can stop this…killer," Rude said. "He just eliminated Huxley, if you know who Huxley is."

"Hux is dead, huh?"

"He told me that this was about a new VICE uprising. The government is trying to shut them down. I'm sure Huxley's lying."

Jacobson lit a cigar and put it to his mouth. "Well, it's along those lines, but definitely not true."

"How so?" Rude said, walking over to a chair and sitting down.

"There's no new VICE. Huxley probably joined with those two idiots, Raven and Wolfe, so he's got many reasons to lie. It's likely that he lied to his assassin, too," he informed. "But, depending on the assassin, they might or might not believe him, which, in turn, would decide whether I'll receive a new bullet or two by Wednesday."

Victor took off his sunglasses and folded them, placing them into his shirt. He sighed and looked out the glass window that oversaw the club below.

"The hitman was Damian," Rude said. "If that name bears any weight to you, then you'll give me more information."

"Hunter?" Jacobson questioned with absurdity. "No, it can't be. He's dead."

"Well, he certainly looks, moves, and fights like Damian," Rude added. "So I'll just say that it's Damian."

Jacobson shook his head. "No. I refuse to accept that. Either way, I won't like the resolution of this."

"You _know_ what he's capable of," Rude said.

"Of course I know that," Jacobson retorted.

It was unmistakable that Jacobson was frightened beyond his own comprehension. Rude sensed this, and a rush of urgency grew within him to gather more information before Jacobson is killed. It was only a matter of time now before Jacobson is zipped into a bodybag and headed towards the morgue.

"So tell me what's happening here," Rude commanded.

The man across the desk sighed and glanced out the glass wall overlooking the club. Rude didn't know whether he himself expected an answer or not.

"Have you ever heard of the Expletus Venator Conspiracy?" Jacobson started. "It's nowhere to be found in the Shinra records, and only a few people, like myself, know of it."

The bald man shook his head. "No. Never heard of it."

"It was a government-funded research project, probably just over 30 years ago," Jacobson said. "It was a program executed in response to Professor Gast's discovery of Jenova under Shinra's Research Department. The government never had an elite force such as SOLDIER at the time, and they had no Jenova, so they lacked Jenova cells to inject their troops."

"Why the fear?" Rude asked.

"Shinra was gaining more power by the year back then," he responded. "The government needed that company, and the company needed the government. So, the black suits behind the desks in Central City condoned Jenova testing in Shinra's department."

"And what was the response?"

"The EV Project. Expletus Venator was a project that was far behind the scenes to create some of the best soldiers in the world. Instead of using blatant sources such as mako, however, the scientists for the government looked for a more natural source."

Rude raised an eyebrow. "And that source is?"

"I don't know," Jacobson halted. "That's all I know, and that's more than enough for them to come and kill me."

"Were there any successful projects?"

"Nope," Jacobson shook his head. "For 15 years, all of the projects failed and had to be shut down. Shinra thrived during that time, and the government was forced to stand out of the way, but not without some leverage."

"What was the leverage?"

Jacobson smirked. "VICE. The government appointed some of the best candidates for VICE, such as characters like Damian and Raven in its later years. It was a personal regulation of Midgar for the government, and for awhile it worked well."

"Huh," Rude acknowledged. "Never knew that. Come to think of it, I never understood why VICE was shut down."

"It doesn't matter," he shrugged. "Figures that they'd send Damian after us. He's their errand boy."

The bald man took a deep breath with the thought of Damian. "Is he the only government agent they're sending after former VICE?"

"Likely," Jacobson replied. "And that's all I know. Is there anything else?"

Rude nodded. "Where are Agents Raven and Wolfe located? Do you know?"

"They're in the Mobil District, towards the outer edges near Midgar, but I wouldn't go looking for them," the man said. "They're most likely uneasy because of the hired hits, and they've probably already gotten ready for anything suspicious to pass by. Those two are just as dangerous as Damian is right now."

"Why?" Rude said. "Is it just because they know about this EV Project?"

Jacobson nodded. "Yep. And they're the most likely to release it to the public."

"Why was it deemed so horrible?" Rude asked.

"There were over 500 human trials," Jacobson said. "None of them survived."

A sigh came upon the bald man and he scratched his head with some confusion in his own motives. He honestly didn't know why he was so involved other than the fact that it had something to do with who he used to be.

"I wouldn't go after it, though. It's a lost cause, as well as a dead end for a young man like you," Jacobson said, giving Rude a subsequent stare. "This is not a struggle of good and evil here. It's just…business. You understand business, don't you?"

Rude nodded with some bleakness. "Yes. But I've seen a world of pure good and evil. It has skewed my perspective."

"That's awful," Jacobson said, shaking his head. "No matter how advantageous it looks, you can't expect to win here. It's a lose-lose situation either way. All you'll end up putting on the line is your own life and the lives of others."

The older man's sudden wisdom took Rude by surprise, and it almost made him seem holy. Jacobson, a dirty, rotten club owner who eats money for a living, was giving him some advice, and Rude had trouble engaging the advice properly. Was it advice or was it a warning?

"And Damian," Jacobson sighed, almost saying the name as if it were personal and household. "He's under their contract now. It's best if you stay out of the way, otherwise you won't be able to escape the inevitable."

And what was that? Rude pondered on the last few words before realizing the meaning of them.

"Why not?" Rude asked, his inner-youth still showing signs of life. "I think I'm the only one who knows Damian enough to handle him. It's my responsibility, now, and I'm going to do whatever it takes to protect people from this new threat."

"Kid, what you got isn't anything new," Jacobson said, slightly astonished by the silent Rude's brave behavior. "It's always been like this. If you keep poking around, he'll find you eventually. Coming _here_ to my club is already a step towards your own ruin. You can't stop the unstoppable."

He sighed and meditated for a few seconds before continuing.

"Death won't wait for your word. That's narcissism."

Rude gave an oddly confident smirk to Jacobson. "Unfortunately, Damian's primary concerns are his targets. I'll be smart and stay out of the way until I can catch him off guard."

"Damian knows how it will all end," Jacobson muttered, pouring himself a drink. "I can only give you advice."

So he knows how it will all end? Rude, because of his skepticism, questioned Jacobson's knowledge of his former training officer, particularly in the absolute fear of Damian. Of course, his youth allowed him to question many things, though he was disappointed with the fact that he was displaying his lack of growth, especially in his experiences with Damian. The former agent would tell him many things; he would pass on knowledge and realism that he had gained himself into Rude. For awhile, Rude had accepted it. But now, he found himself at a crossroad.

Jacobson's sudden familiarity with Damian would not go without question, however.

"Did you…_know_ Damian?" Rude then asked.

The man sat there with a dead look on his face.

Muffled, but unmistakable was a sound of explosion coming from outside. Both their heads turned towards the sound and imagined completely different things with similar outcomes. Someone was here, and they wanted Jacobson.

"I'll go check it out," Rude said. "You stay here. You obviously know more about this."

Jacobson's dead look was pale and petrified, completely frozen in fear.

Rude reached into his jacket for the gun in his chest holster and pulled out the pistol that rested there. With some growing panic coming from the downstairs area, he made his way out of Jacobson's office to investigate.

* * *

"This is my favorite place," Cissnei said, sipping on the straw in her strawberry shake. "Don't you think it's great? People are friendly around here."

Victor looked around as though the people were alien to him, because most of his days were spent in the slums. It was obviously unorthodox for him to spend time in the upper plates, especially in Sector 8, where he shared an apartment with his mother until his money would suffice.

The restaurant was a dainty place, full of social people and daily workers coming in and out. Primarily, it appeared to be constantly busy throughout the day, and he had assumed that they were already receiving customers since six in the morning. One thing comforted him, though: he didn't have to be as on edge as he was down in the slums.

"Well, I live here," he replied. "Though I haven't fully explored any of the sectors before, other than the slums."

"You're lucky," she stated. "This is one of the better areas, mostly because of LOVELESS Boulevard."

"I've never seen it," Rude then said, referring to the play.

"What?!"

"I've never seen it."

"What?!"

"I said I've never seen—"

She cut him off. "I heard what you said. You know, I might be a Turk, but it's a downright _sin_ if you haven't seen a LOVELESS play."

"I don't care for it much," Rude callously added. "It doesn't really pique my interests."

"Why not?!" she asked in response to the absurdity of his statement.

He shrugged. "I don't know. It's just not my cup of tea."

"Come on, that's no valid reason. The story's a great one. It's about 'The Gift of the Goddess,' and the three noble men who would try to obtain this gift—"

"Exactly," Rude sharply said. "That's why it's not my cup of tea. I enjoy epics from time to time, but I'm just not an epic kind of guy."

"That's not _you_ talking," she replied. "That's _Damian_ talking. You hang around him too much. You agents and your realisms…"

He almost grinned. "Sorry, but someone's got to be a little more down-to-earth around here. Otherwise no work would get done."

Cissnei scoffed at his remark. "Well, you still have to go see it. We should go some time."

"Is that a date you're proposing?" Rude asked. "Usually it's the other way around."

"It's the least you owe me for not willing to listen to my proposal on VICE," she commented.

The exchange of words felt similar to Rude, as though he had heard some similar tradeoffs before. He raised an eyebrow and his mouth twitched a bit to her words. And what of this new VICE proposal? He was still unsure about what she would say or request of him. Indeed, his curiosity for VICE's shutdown was growing at a surprising rate due to the past few days, since nearly everyone was keeping secrets away from him.

"I'm willing to hear it," he then said.

"Really? I thought you had declined to say anything about your work," she reminded him.

"Well, you're wrong on that one," he told her in contrast. "I asked what would happen _if_ I didn't want to speak about VICE. I never confirmed that I'd want to speak about it."

A subtle smirk formed at her lips. "Well, I promised you that it should be a nice lunch if you didn't want to speak about it."

"And it was working well, too, until you brought up LOVELESS," he mentioned, causing her to have a look of surprised revulsion.

"Ugh," she turned away. "You're hopeless."

He returned a smirk. "Not as much as you."

As she turned around for a minute, something coming into the restaurant doorway caused her to turn back to Rude immediately, forcing a look of surprise on his face. His first instincts prompted him to look over her shoulder towards what she saw, but she stopped him from doing so, both hands pushing against his chest.

"No, wait," she said. "Don't be so conspicuous."

"Who is that?" Rude asked, curious to see who it was.

"It's Damian," Cissnei told him. "And _Aerith_."

* * *

Bullets had hit the two men at the front door, causing quite a stir for the other bodyguards of Jacobson. Rude stood outside and eyed the debris of the ruined vehicle, the licks of orange spread across the pavement to brighten the street. Reflections of the fire on the wet ground only spread its visibility, and the flames were still roaring, loud, and reverberating. He stood outside with his loaded gun alongside the two office bodyguards, keeping an eye out for anything troubling. Almost immediately, Rude felt an urge to return inside the club, absolutely sure that this was a distraction.

"Calling the authorities would be a logical decision," said one of Jacobson's personal front-desk bodyguards.

Rude shook his head, backing away from the scene. "Get back inside, now. It's a diversion."

The bald man turned around and hastily made his way back to the club front entrance. He reached for the door handle and noticed that it was barred from the inside. Even worse, the door swung outwards towards them, so there was no chance of smashing his way in. Rude's system began pumping the adrenaline into his system, speeding up his heart rate as his urgency heightened immensely. He turned around and sped towards the side into the alleyway, where the side door would be located. The two other bodyguards watched confusedly, but pursued other means of getting back into the club.

Making his way past the dead bodyguard at the side entrance, Rude quickly grimaced at the sight but noticed the door ajar and rushed inside. The pistol was cocked and ready for anything. However, Rude noticed the sight inside and felt some disappointment in himself. The fire must have been quite loud, because the dead bartender, some bodyguards, some employees, and even the janitor was shot and killed. What an absolutely artistic assault approach, Damian would say. All the shots were perfect, and no one had a chance to fight back, even though the bartender had pulled out a pistol.

He stood in the middle of the great room and turned around to look to the glass wall where he could barely see Jacobson's silhouette, along with the figure that stood in front of him. Rude's eyes widened with little time to react, but it was though his muscles were frozen, unable to move from the immense tremor of sighting the assailant. Jacobson raised a pistol out of surprise, trying to catch his killer off-guard.

Immediately, the assassin's silhouette raised a silenced pistol and fired the double tap technique at Jacobson, misty spouts of dust and blood particles flying off of the club owner's chest from the impact. Jacobson's chest rose from the impact, the reaction of the shot causing his body to writhe. One more shot hit his head, causing his entire skull to bounce against the top end of the chair. Simultaneously, Jacobson's gun went off and hit the lightly tinted glass wall, shattering the glass utterly.

Rude's eyes met with the hitman who glared down into the club. They exchanged glances. The bald man was upset that the murderer was Damian, though he wasn't as surprised as he was back in the hospital. Honestly, he didn't expect his former questionable training partner to be so quick to strike.

Before Rude could think any further, Damian indifferently pointed the silenced tactical pistol and began firing. Quickly, Rude dove behind the nearby beams that supported the second level. Was this man still Damian? As Rude readied his pistol to shoot back at him, he heard a large thump, noticing that Damian had leapt down from the second level.

A few clicking sounds caught his ear, hearing the magazine slide out of the chamber, signifying a reload. He peeked around the corner and noticed Damian behind some cover, taking some time out to reload his weapon. As Damian reloaded, however, Rude noticed the two bodyguards sprinting towards him to attack. Immediately, the killer tossed his gun aside and evaded their attacks, rolling into the middle of the room.

He exchanged blows with both of the bodyguards, ducking, avoiding, and diving across tables. Damian tossed chairs, condiment containers, and leftover beer bottles at the two bodyguards. The two seemed to have the upper hand, and Rude had trouble getting a shot at the assassin, afraid that he might hit one of the bodyguards instead.

After awhile, Damian grew tired of the senseless fighting and grabbed one of the guard's arms. With unimaginable brutality, he quickly struck underneath the guard's arm, at the elbow, and snapped the joint connection completely. The bodyguard's elbow stuck out in the opposite direction, and he shrieked with stinging pain. Damian tossed him aside and countered the other bodyguard's blows.

Right as the bodyguard went for a spinning roundhouse kick, Damian engaged him while he was halfway turned and thrust a powerful stomp at the guard's knee joint on his supporting leg. The leg cracked abnormally as the joint snapped to destroy the leg structure, and the guard fell to the ground, his limb completely lost and broken. Damian did not stall another moment and walked over to his silenced handgun, picking it up and reloading another magazine into it.

The hitman walked forward while fixing his suit and pointed the gun at the two fallen bodyguards, firing two rounds to each of their heads. They both immediately collapsed to the ground, and blood began forming a nasty puddle on the wood floor. Damian slid the gun back into his waist holster and fixed his new suit, an attractive gray-silver suit that went well with his silver-black hair.

Rude, removing his sunglasses, took this as the opportune moment and turned out of cover, holding the gun up at the assassin. Damian did not hold his hands up, but instead gave Rude a strange look.

"Freeze," Rude said in a calm state. "Hands up."

"You were that guy at the hospital," Damian stated. "Have we met before?"

It was an insult to the former Turk that Damian had forgotten him. Well, at least it felt like one.

"Victor, put the gun down," the hunter then said, catching Rude by some surprise.

"Damian," Rude said. "What are you doing?"

Damian reached for his back pocket.

"Put your hands up!" Rude snapped.

Without listening, Damian's hand crept towards his back pocket and pulled out a package of cigarettes. He took a cigarette from the package and placed it between his lips, putting away the package and looking around the room for a lighter.

Victor stared at him with some oddity. Damian's demeanor looked like it hadn't changed at all, even though there was a different feel to him. Each word Damian breathed out seemed…soulless. The cigarettes still left Rude with some nostalgia of his VICE days, however, and his expression somehow softened. The two stood there, having returned no greeting or asking no questions about what had happened for the past 7 or 8 years, yet they still felt each other's presence as though they understood one another.

"Haven't quit yet, have you?" Rude asked.

Damian scanned the room for a lighter, then back at his former partner. "Nope. I just need a new light."

Rude stood there and meditated on Damian's few words for a minute before coming back to focus.

"What are you doing, Damian?" Rude asked. "I thought you were…"

"Dead?" Damian asked. "Not quite."

"Why are you killing these people? They don't deserve to die. Not even a termination protocol would sanction this."

Damian looked up at Rude and stared into the once-rookie. "Right, they probably don't deserve to die. But I'm being paid to kill them, so that works out."

"Don't do this," Rude said. "You don't have to do this. You once said it yourself, right? No one wants to be a lapdog."

"Of course," Damian replied. "But I'm not a lapdog."

"You don't work for the government?" Rude asked.

"Sorry, but I'm freelance," he said with a smirk. "It's my ethical code that's pushing the job further."

Rude's face turned displeased. "What _ethics_ are there in killing people?!"

"One," Damian answered straightforwardly. "It's my ethic to keep to the contract."

"That's…inhuman," Rude stated, for the lack of a better word.

The killer let out a chuckle. "You still haven't changed much, have you? Or perhaps you have forgotten reality."

"My reality is certainly better than yours," Rude stated, thinking of his colleagues and friends back on the other side of the threshold. "I am _not_ enjoying being pulled back into this reality."

"Except you're not being pulled," Damian said, reaching down to one of the dead bodyguards. He managed to find a cigarette lighter and lit his cigarette, taking a deep inhalation. "You're being pushed…back to the fringe."

"You will not take me on another psycho ride, Damian," Rude said. "I'm ordering you to stop what you're doing."

"Psycho ride?" Damian asked with a bit of surprise to hearing such an absurd term. "Hardly. You pursue this 'ride' for a reason."

Rude kept his gun up at the man. "And that is?"

"A reminder," Damian answered.

This was what Jacobson had warned Rude about. Damian's focus was now locked onto the bald man, and the tension began to rise. It was inevitable that everyone who knew about VICE would die, and Rude had wanted to calculate so he would reach a step further than Damian. He was walking death now, more than he ever used to be. The different air about him was starting to become clear to Rude. Damian was absolutely unsound, yet he carried himself sensibly. It was confusing to Rude how his mind worked, as it was more elaborate than it was back then.

"Do you know where I'm going?" Damian asked with a deep, threatening voice.

"You're going to find Raven and Wolfe, right?" Rude guessed.

Damian exhaled a breath of smoke. "I know where they are."

"And where's that?"

"They're in city somewhere," he stated correctly. "But that's not where I'm going. Do you know where I'm going?"

"No."

Damian glanced at his watch. "I hope she's still open tonight. It's not that late."

Tifa. Rude looked down just a bit and shook his head. How would he know where Tifa works and lives? Intel must have been quite good for him if he could gather information so quickly. And now, Damian was coming to hurt her. Rude cursed himself for dragging her into this situation.

"She won't be there. You won't find her."

"It doesn't make a difference whether she's there or not. I'll find her."

Rude felt an uneasiness growing within him. "Why are you doing this?"

Damian sighed and exhaled some more smoke. "You know how this will turn out in the end, don't you?"

"No, I don't," Rude said, shaking his head.

"I think you do," Damian insisted, his voice as piercing as ever. "So here's what I'll offer. You tell me the exact location of former Agents Raven and Wolfe, and I'll let her live. If you don't tell me, she's liable, just as you are now."

So, Rude truly was sucked into this vacuum now. "I'm the one with the gun."

"It doesn't matter," he replied. "I won't tell you if you can save yourself, because you can't. It's the best I can do for you."

"I'm still the one with the gun," Rude reminded him.

"You won't die tonight," Damian ensured. "But one way or another, you won't make it out alive. It's inevitable."

"If you hurt her," Rude started with an angry voice, "I swear to God I'm going to track you down and kill you. I swear…"

Right at that moment, Damian flicked the cigarette into Rude's face, the ashes temporarily burning his eyes. Ten long seconds passed before Rude could make anything out of the blurred vision, noticing that the man in the silver suit was gone. Several thoughts and outcomes rushed through Rude's mind, but only one was focused. Tifa. He had to go back and protect her, and he only hoped that Strife was still there.

Rude finally ceased all forms of thinking and stormed out the door, rushing to his vehicle in the street. He had to find Tifa, and fast.

**Yep, I hate to leave you hanging there, but I love to keep you on edge. If you compare Damian's personalities between the past and present timelines, I hope you can see just a bit more of a difference and change. And I hope you guys caught the line between Damian and Rude concerning the cigarette without a light. It's a little neat line that I thought belonged there. Next chapter, I'll reveal what happens in the restaurant, and the events in the present timeline will shift to overdrive.**

**Anyway, if you guys got anything to say, then please submit a review, and if you guys are having trouble finding this story, then put it on your alerts list. I'm unsure about my update frequency, but I'll be sure to update as soon as I can. I'm hoping to finish next chapter relatively soon, so stay tuned. See you guys next time. **


	11. The Threshold

**Apologies for the long wait. I'm at the final stretch of my school year (only 2 weeks left!) and it's been a total crapstorm of work. However, this chapter is fairly long and should keep you guys on your toes.**

**Alright, one big aspect of this chapter: we get to read from a new point-of-view. It's an attempt to characterize the most "pivotal" character in the story, so I hope you guys find it interesting. This chapter puts the characters at the point of no return, too, so I hope you guys enjoy it. Ah, but I blabber too much. Happy reading, readers!**

**Chapter 11: The Threshold  
**

She was a polite girl. Never would he have considered that a woman as young as she would be so thoughtful, perhaps even sincere. Dangerously sincere. Aerith was everything that he wasn't, and in truth, he should be disinterested because they didn't share too much common ground. And yet, he was attracted. At the same time, Damian was troubled, mainly from last night and the night before. He was relieved that she didn't complain about his new suit since his other one was burned, the bloodstains vanished along with it.

Would it last? _Could_ it last? Damian had calculated so many things already, and none of them hinted towards a better tomorrow. For the past few weeks, he felt himself falling under her spell, becoming stripped of his armor that shielded a questionable heart. If it existed, that is. When he dropped his arm to his side, he brushed the gun that hung at his waist, reminding him of who he was. He had no control over it. There was no reason to work against one's own circumstances, and therefore, he just knew that his relationship with her wouldn't last.

Four, or was it five targets this week? He didn't remember. They were only faces to him. People were just faces, only significant until the cold steel weapon roared of death at the pull of the trigger.

The Turks were after her. He noted this, as well. If ever they drew too close, he wouldn't mind drawing the line with his gun. But that would have been unreasonable, yet at the same time, it was _their_ choice in controlling _their_ motives. People never consider the future when the present is burning, especially young people like Rude and Aerith. Everyone was like a candle, so focused at the burning point, then when there's nothing left to burn, it's all extinguished. Only time would tell.

What was _he_, then? Nothing different, perhaps. Damian could care less.

What piqued his thoughts, however, was his choice in dating a woman such as Aerith, only knowing how it would end, leaving him at indecisiveness. If his principle brought him to this crossroad, then of what use was that principle? Such things, he did not know. He only knew that no matter how much he did or controlled, he could never find himself away from his work. Then why would he tell Aerith that destiny could not exist? Perhaps it did not, yet simultaneously, Damian was bound by his _own_ conditions, restraining him to do what was necessary of him. He could not refuse killing a man he was assigned to kill, and thus, fate is always ultimately sealed; but, the target could have avoided becoming a target completely. Ultimately, everything is only free until something controls it. What a twisted way of thinking.

As she kept speaking, her lovely voice massaging his already troubled mind, he tried to clear his head of all thoughts. Of course, she was the most trouble that he had ever encountered. Her eyes tended to drift around the restaurant because he was staring so deeply into her, triggering some shyness.

"…and that's how I was lost in the park for a good four hours," she said with a blush, noticing his gaze. "Something wrong?"

He shook his head. "No. Everything is just fine."

"Something's on your mind," she insisted. "It's okay. I am more than aware that you don't like to explain yourself."

Damian took that quite painfully as she truthfully spoke about him. He never liked how she could read him more easily than others, but then again, she was the only one who would sympathize with him. Now why would he care?

"No, it's just…" Damian said, troubled. "I've got some bad…premonitions…that I don't really want to talk about."

"I'm sorry," she then apologized.

He raised an eyebrow, confused with her reaction. "For what?"

"I know you really don't like to be questioned," she said. "And I just want to apologize for asking earlier…who you _are_. I hope I didn't make you uncomfortable."

Should he be humbled by her apology? Or sickened? This was the second apology that she had given him for asking personal questions.

"Don't…apologize," Damian said with the utmost adamancy. "_Ever_."

"Okay…"

"No one can ever truly be punished for something they can't control," Damian said. "It just happens, and sometimes we have to accept it. We just gotta roll with it."

She gave him a strange look. "What do you mean? I don't…"

"It's a difficult theory to believe," he said. "Don't worry about it. I've just got some bad vibes right now. There's some trouble in my department, and things could be steep from here. The ground is slippery."

"But you're right," she said to him. "No one _can_ apologize for something out of hand, yet people hurt themselves over it. People with guilt."

Damian gave a half-smirk. "Or people with weak wills."

"I guess," she agreed. "So are you…going to be fired or something?"

He sighed and looked around the restaurant as though all things were new to him, even smiling to himself to alleviate the heaviness on his mind. "Let me tell you a story."

"Okay," she said with a smile, her eyes focused on his.

Clearing his throat, Damian subsequently took a breath. "There were four 1st Class SOLDIERs once, all brothers of war, coming home from their operations in Wutai. They handled the operations with ease, and were considered the top of their class. However, their biggest flaw was hubris. Excessive hubris, if such a term was imaginable; all because they were heroes of war, easily taking down some of the largest Wutai military facilities in the west.

"Their own overconfidence dragged them into trouble with Shinra and the government, enough to warrant their deaths. The government, as powerful as they were, sent only one man to kill them. This man was still young and far weaker than these 'heroes,' easily sustaining injuries within the first few encounters alone. These heroes were wrongly accused, and were only thrown to the wolves because they were a complete nuisance to government agenda. They had several chances to save themselves."

"And did they?" Aerith asked hopefully. "I mean, the man they sent to kill the SOLDIER members was…only one. And SOLDIERs are Shinra's strongest. Plus, they're really brave guys when you hear or see one."

Damian continued. "This man the government sent to terminate them was at a disadvantage, yet his only advantage was their hubris. Therefore, he was allowed to deceive them, lure them, and, eventually, he killed the four SOLDIERs, who had the upper hand. The heroes died somewhere out there, dishonorably. They were shot like dogs; dogs of war."

"That's a horrific story," she told him, a cute look of displeasure covering her face. "Why did you tell me that?"

"The point is," Damian said, in a complete state of thought. "Sometimes people cannot see past the holes of their own myths. No matter how much one has the upper hand, the outcome is never certain. I'd pass it off as stupidity, but many people are deceived by the same mental offender. It's just something I've noticed while doing…what I do."

"I think that you're thinking a little too much," she said. "But I'm glad to have heard something like this…"

"It's nothing," he said. "Just another useless musing. My mind wanders."

She gave him a slight grin before giving him "that look" again. That look was a look of curiosity, of understanding, and of intrigue. Aerith wanted to know what was going on in this man's head; what he is thinking, what he is feeling, what he sees. Damian was something else to her, something alien and unknown, and having stepped into his space was like stepping outside of the safety zone in a village. The only thing left to cross was the point of no return, and who knows how long it would take to reach that point. Damian's mind had several defenses, and breaking down the rest of that cold armor this lone wolf wore would be difficult. She was making progress, though.

Aerith giggled with some amusement. "Wait…are you saying that you killed the four 1st Class SOLDIERs?"

His look did not falter. Damian kept a cold stare for just a few more seconds before laughing along with her, permitting comfort into the air. "What?! No way, come on! Do I look like a guy who would intentionally…_kill_ someone?!"

The couple had a good laugh before their food was brought around to them. He still saw some confusion in her eyes, knowing that she had trouble understanding what he meant. Still, he didn't expect her to understand something she hasn't seen, heard, or felt. She was everything that he wasn't, and it comforted him.

Damian's eye caught some trouble outside, or at least he sensed it. His face slowed down the bit of laughter between them as he carefully watched Shinra Security troopers making their way towards the restaurant.

* * *

Cloud was rather quiet, looking much more aloof than his normal self. Then again, there was no "normal" self for him. The only sound to Tifa's ears was the running water in the sink while she washed the dishes inside the bar. The last customer had left about fifteen minutes ago, and since then, the bar had been painfully quiet. Usually at times like these, she would hum a melody to herself or even turn on the television, but too many thoughts weighed her down.

She remembered her dream again, and how Cloud was in it. He was running away from trouble with no notice of his surroundings. It was always the way she saw him, ever since they lost _her_. Tifa had recovered from the loss of Aerith long ago, but noticed how much harder Cloud took her death. And now, with Rude in the picture, she couldn't handle herself accordingly anymore. The ex-Turk was being rather private about his thoughts on the attacker at the hospital, too, which was odd considering his openness to her when he would stay and tell her his _story_. She found herself becoming fond of both men, Cloud for their past and Rude for his sincerity. Tifa let out a breath of troubled thoughts.

"Are we closing soon?" Cloud's voice asked, walking into the room from the living area.

She didn't look at him, but nodded. "Yeah. You should turn off the lights in the back."

"Okay," he numbly said, walking towards the back room again.

Tifa finished up the rest of the dishes and hastily wiped the counter, hanging the small towel to dry on top of the sink. To be honest, all she could think about was Rude at the moment, though she was more concerned with his health, because he could be in total trouble right now. Nonetheless, it was late, and Reno had promised to call her when the bald guy returned home. He hasn't called yet.

"Alright, it's all done," he broke off her thoughts. "Anything else?"

She finally turned to him and gave him an analytical stare. "Are you okay?"

"What do you mean?" Cloud asked.

That look appeared on his face again. Those weary eyes were strange by themselves, giving Tifa an uncomfortable feeling whenever he looked at her. Every time she traveled into a deeper layer of Cloud, she had a fearful feeling, as though she did not want to go further.

"You just look…" she almost flinched at his glance. "…tired."

"Then I'm tired," Cloud stated bluntly, trying to shrug off her concern.

She almost frowned to his automatic response. "Do you need anything, then?"

"Don't worry about me."

An extreme wave of anger boiled inside of her, frustrated with his passive behavior.

Tifa slammed a hand on the counter to his response. "That's just it, though, isn't it?! I can't worry about you at all, can I?!"

He remained indifferent.

"Oh, and here it comes," she predicted sarcastically, explosively fed up with his helplessness (which attributed to her own). "Cloud is just going to stand there and take a complete yelling. Good work there, Cloud. Just drown in yourself and hope and hope and hope and hope! You're going nowhere! Just look at yourself!"

A turned-away Cloud stood there for a few more seconds.

"What do you want from me?!" Cloud demanded threateningly, somewhat frightening her with his own catharsis of anger. "What is it that you desire so irresistibly that you must dog me day-by-day with your rants and screams and bitching?!"

She had trouble saying it, and even found that she couldn't remember what she wanted from Cloud. Here he stood, completely angered and confrontational, at last willing to listen.

"Even if I told you, you wouldn't care," she said piercingly, bitterly turning away from his glare.

Cloud shook his head. "This is why I've no need to be yelled at. Why help me if you won't help yourself?"

"The same could be said about you!" she wailed powerlessly.

"I don't need your help," Cloud stated. "I never said I needed it."

Tifa could almost feel like crying, but she wouldn't let herself do so. "Because you're selfish. That's what it's always been about, hasn't it?"

"I'm selfish for failing two people that I have _loved_?!" he asked with ridicule, referring to the deaths of Zack and Aerith.

She looked up at him again. "No! You're selfish because you don't want to forgive yourself!"

"So what do _you_ want from me, then?" he asked, calming his voice down.

After giving it some hard thought, Tifa opened her mouth to speak.

"I want you to be _here_!" she demanded. "Stay and spend time with the kids once in awhile! You're always gone…"

Cloud didn't respond to her words, and only looked down with shut eyes.

"You're constantly running," she said. "But you're running from nothing. Nothing except yourself. If you can't face yourself, you'll never find peace."

"And have _you_ found any peace?" he asked with objection.

Tifa's eyes watered up and she looked away. "I've been waiting for you to get over yourself…far too long. I was hoping that we'd find peace together. Cloud…no one is so unyielding that they would wait for you forever."

Cloud's eyes widened in response to her words. "What do you mean by that?"

"Cloud, I…" she began to sob. "I've put up with you for a long time. You're immovable…and I'm just pushed so far to the fringe that…that I can't take it anymore. I'm moving on, Cloud."

The unusual clarity of her voice wouldn't help his digestion of her words. It was almost as though Cloud was imagining this, since he would never have expected for it to happen.

"Things just won't wait on you," Tifa said. "That's…that's narcissism."

He was unresponsive, but looked like several thoughts were overflowing his cup of a mind. Tifa's words felt like a wakeup call, perhaps one that called too late. Cloud didn't know what to say, completely shocked with what was happening right now.

"You should have seen it coming," she added, grabbing a tissue. After she wiped her nose and tears, she regained her composure and looked as though she was ready to leave. "But then again, people never know what's coming."

Tifa walked to her purse on the counter and grabbed it, heading outside. A speechless Cloud still stood there like a fool, probably still digesting her words.

"I'll see you back at the apartment," she said. Spots on her face, especially around the eyes, were still red from her tears earlier. "I'm going to walk from here."

Little did she know that there was already someone waiting outside for her.

* * *

"Agent Damian Hunter," one of the troopers said, causing everyone in the room to stare at the agent and his date.

Damian kindly smiled, his predatory instincts hidden from all who watched. "That's me. Is there a problem?"

"Step away from Ms. Gainsborough," the trooper answered. "Please."

He slowly grinded his teeth, looking back and forth between the confident soldier and the nervously afraid woman. "Why?"

"She's a fugitive," the trooper stated. "The government and Shinra have been looking for her. Please let us take her in."

"Do you have any proof of this?"

The soldier stayed still, his eyes hidden under the Shinra Helmets. "Are you questioning my authority, Mr. Hunter?"

"My authority exceeds yours," Damian countered. "I demand proof, otherwise you'll find yourselves in a courtroom trying to maintain your badges."

The Security officer wrapped his gun around his shoulder and pulled a small computer device from his waist. It looked as though his arms were shaking nervously, strangely frantic about what was going to happen. Mostly, it could have been from Damian's uncomforting stare. After a few more clicks on the touch screen of the small device, he handed it to Damian.

"Here," the Security employee said. "That's her file."

Aerith frantically watched in disbelief.

Damian looked at the profile and browsed through her crimes, still composed and unshaken. His eyes, though on the screen of the small device, managed to catch a look of the officers that stood in the restaurant. The civilians inside must have been deeply disturbed. The Security officers didn't look too bad, having a confident air about them and even imposing order inside the restaurant. He knew something was wrong about them, though.

"Satisfied?" the trooper asked.

"Wha…that's not true!" Aerith weakly exclaimed, almost whimpering. "I…I haven't done anything wrong…"

Taking a good glance out the window, Damian noticed a suited man hiding behind a few trash bins, keeping a watchful eye on the event. The ponytail gave it away immediately. Apparently Tseng was here. In truth, Damian should be angry, but he took this as an opportunity to use Tseng to his advantage.

The agent set the computer device on the table and eyed the trooper's uniform. "Okay, you can take her."

Aerith's eyes widened as a Security trooper grabbed her by the arm and lifted her up the table forcefully. She gave Damian a shocked stare, but the voice of the Security trooper caught her ear.

"It's okay," the trooper whispered to her as he gripped her arm. "You'll be safe now."

"What?"

"I said you're safe. Soon as we're outta here, I'll explain."

She noticed a halfway concealed tattoo on the trooper's arm, and could barely make out the words. AVALANCHE. Confused, Aerith let the man take her as far as the door while the others followed.

"Wait," Damian said, catching their attention. The agent stood up and walked over to them.

Aerith caught the eye of the trooper that had spoken to Damian. He looked nervous. Scared, almost.

"…Sir?" the soldier turned around, his breathing beginning to quicken.

The agent held up the computer device. "You forgot this."

The trooper, clearly showing signs of relief, let out an exhalation. "Thanks. I knew I had forgotten something."

Damian faced outside the window and spotted Tseng, exchanging a vital glance with him. Tseng, noticing Damian's communication, only guessed what the agent meant. In a display of his own responsibility for the Turk-secure Aerith, Damian turned back to the officer as he began to walk away again.

"Trooper, where's your badge?" Damian asked.

The man turned around and faced him. "Sir?"

"Security personnel must wear badges at all times," he stated with a clear voice. "And they mustn't forge arrest warrants."

"What?"

Damian's hand shot our from his side and struck the Security trooper in the neck, quickly following with a powerful foot thrust to the chest, sending the officer into the direction of his colleagues. He managed to fight his way through the three troopers with blinding speed, insensitively disabling each person with zero mercy

The agent quickly made his way to Aerith and prepared to engage the trooper that stood in his path. With some clumsiness, the trooper reached for his pistol, even quick enough to point the gun towards Damian's direction.

The flower girl let out a frightened shriek, nearly shutting her eyes.

Clinching the trooper's arm in a close-quarters lock, Damian twisted the arm in a grip and tossed the Security officer over his shoulder, breaking the arm at the joints from the immense pressure. The trooper rested on the ground, paralyzed from such a quick maneuver. Without wasting a moment, Damian turned to Aerith.

"Stay here," he said, walking out into nowhere.

Aerith tried to respond, but he was already a good distance away from her, and the shock value from his disassembly of such a squad kept her lips glued tight.

He stepped towards the small alleyway nearby, but kept his sense of stealth in mind. Surreptitiously sneaking towards the small corner, Damian avoided the few trash bins and dirty newspapers crumpled on the streets to suppress noise. He waited along the corner of the wall for a few moments. When Tseng's head poked out to look towards Aerith, Damian caught his blindside and gripped his shirt, forcing him against the wall in the alleyway with an aggressive shove.

"What do you want with her?" Damian asked calmly, his voice still resounding with utter terror. "Allow me to politely tell you to _fuck off_."

"Look, Damian," Tseng replied with trouble, unable to answer with Damian's firm grip on the collars of his jacket. "Let me go…I'll explain."

The hunter's eyes carefully released the prey and even helped fix his suit a tad bit. "Now, tell me why Aerith is so important to Shinra's Personal Bitches."

Tseng sighed, and eyed the surroundings, even observing the tense Damian pull out a cigarette and light it to calm himself down. "She's more than you could ever imagine. She's basically a high priority of Shinra."

"Why?" Damian asked, much calmer than before.

"It's…" Tseng bit his lip. "She's not of your kind, Damian. Aerith is the last member of a dying race."

"And that is?"

"The Cetra," he replied.

Damian ran a tongue along his cheek, somehow unresponsive to Tseng's reply. Did he not understand? The Turk assumed so. Perhaps he didn't care.

"You wouldn't understand," Tseng then said. "It's not of your world."

"If I'm involved with her," Damian said, "then everything that has to do with her will concern me as well."

Tseng inconspicuously peeked across Damian's shoulder while reaching for his own cigarette. It seemed that the small squad had already gotten up and left—lucky bastards. Aerith, too, was busy with Cissnei and Rude, who showed up just as planned. Carefully, the Turk lit his cigarette and took a drag.

"It's beyond you, Damian," Tseng said. "Your relationship with her will only speed up the process of VICE's disassembly. You, of all people, should understand this better than others."

Damian looked away with some hidden bitterness, looking down in a deep state of thought. "I don't think I really care."

"Exactly," Tseng said. "All you need to know is that if we don't keep tabs on Aerith, she could be in danger. What just happened with you and the AVALANCHE thugs is a sign of this."

"AVALANCHE?" Damian asked, expecting some clarification.

"They've been causing some trouble lately," Tseng said. "But…then again, we treat them like a disobedient child."

The agent scoffed the topic away. "Never mind that."

A beep from Damian's waist signified the cell phone that hung there. Damian reached for it and opened it, looking at the screen. Apparently, there was a text message. After browsing the message for a few seconds, he shut the phone and put it back.

"It's the boss," Damian said. He looked at Tseng for a few more seconds. "Maybe there's some truth to your words."

"He wants a meeting _now_?" Tseng asked. "Oh, no…they're acting sooner than we had expected."

Damian raised an eyebrow and finished up his cigarette. "What do you mean?"

"I think they're going to give you a lecture on Aerith," Tseng said. "I think they're going to split soon. Keep in touch, Damian. You have my phone number. Call me after you meet your boss. I'll try to make things work for you two if anything goes wrong."

"Make things work?" Damian asked with some bewilderment. "So you're trying to help me now, huh? What's the leverage?"

Before Tseng left, he looked over his shoulder. "Aerith's protection. I think she's better in your hands than anyone else's."

* * *

Tifa stepped out into the cold night, hugging herself tight in her arms to keep some warmth. She couldn't believe what she had just done; she managed to summon enough courage to walk out. An unusual sense of pride established itself within her, but more than that, she was still hurt over Cloud's foolishness.

A speeding vehicle coming down the street broke her thoughts, however, and she backed up out of the street and waited in between a few parked vehicles. Oddly, though, the car came to a halt and she noticed the driver inside.

Rude opened the window to the passenger's side.

"Rude?" she asked. "What's…what's going on?"

"There's no time," Rude said with the utmost urgency. "Get in."

"Wha—?" Tifa remarked confusedly.

The back window of the parked car next to her shattered, causing Rude to look over his shoulder. "Come on!"

Bullets, she concluded. Silenced. Swiftly, Tifa reached for the door handle, hearing the shatter of Rude's tail light as a bullet whizzed towards her direction. The other vehicle would provide little cover, and she would need to move quickly. Tifa gripped the handle and swung the passenger's door open as more bullets hit Rude's vehicle, creating a threatening gradual noise of bullet impacts which violently hit the car in consistent intervals. When she got in, Rude immediately forced her to lean forward so she wouldn't catch any bullets. The back window had already taken four bullets before it completely shattered, prompting the ex-Turk to slam the pedal downwards.

Within ten excruciatingly long seconds, the car was far enough away from the bullets. A moment of silence only left the rushing air as the car zoomed down the street to sound.

"Get up," Rude said, keeping his eyes on the road. "Put your seatbelt on."

Tifa sat up and drew deep breaths, seized in a state of speechlessness and utter shock from the previous traumatic experience. Bits of her hair hung in front of her face, completely messy and ruined. She kept a tense stare on the road, taking quick short breaths. Her mind was ablaze.

"Are you hit?" he asked, though it seemed more like a demand. She was unresponsive for a few seconds. "HEY, are you hit?"

She only shook her head. "N-no, I don't think so."

The car kept running down the street for a few more minutes before Tifa managed to pose a question.

"Was that…?"

"Damian," Rude answered, seemingly the only focused person of the two. "He killed someone."

"Where are you taking me?" she then asked.

Rude gave her a look, then answered, "We're going to find answers. If I leave you somewhere, Damian will find you and kill you."

"What?!" she exclaimed, transitioning from a passive attitude to a completely focused one. "Why?! I've done nothing!"

"I know," he said. "It's because you're associated with me."

She crossed her arms and stared out the window. "This is ridiculous…"

"You were the one who proposed to help me with this," Rude then retorted. "And now you're forced to do so. I don't like it one bit, but there's no other way. If we don't work together, he'll kill us both."

"Why us?" she asked, turning her head back to face him. "Why not Cloud…or Reno?"

Rude shook his head. "I don't know."  
Of course he knew. Rude's own little relationship with Tifa had backfired harshly, and he cursed his own luck for doing so. Still, the man kept a sense of hope in the back of his mind. He wanted to pull them both out of this alive.

"He probably spied on you," she said. "Probably during those times you came to the bar."

"Those times did not have any significance," Rude then stated.

Tifa shot him a halfway pained stare. What did he mean by "significance"? It certainly had a negative connotation. His bitter retort caused her to look away with a negative exhalation.

He caught her body language and realized what he had just said. "No—I don't mean it that way…"

"Save it," she said. "I'm not in the mood right now."

Something else was on her mind, he suspected. It was not usual of her to be so bitter and aloof. Either way, Rude didn't want to ask what happened to her; now was not a time to do so.

"Get some sleep," Rude said, dismissing her previous comment. "I'll find a place on the outskirts for us to lay low for awhile. I'm going to get some answers."

First, he would have to search for answers about the EV Project that Jacobson spoke of. With Tifa's life in his hands and Damian on their tail, Rude immediately knew that he would have to lead the path. It was his situation to control, now, and he would do it efficiently.

**Well, there you have it. The next chapter will shed more light on the plotline and give newer insights to our characters. It will all build up to some more shocking revelations. I hope you guys know that I'm aiming for a theme in this story (unlike most of the other fanfics I've failed to finish), which is what keeps the characters fired up and in motion. It would fill me with glee that you'll understand it by the end. Thanks for reading, please review, and I'll see you guys next time—probably in the next 2 weeks or so because I've got my finals coming up.**


	12. A Wolfe's Call

**Well, I've finished yet another chapter. This chapter will set us up for the next chapter, of course, but it's got some more interesting things in it. One warning, though. One particular point in this chapter contains a higher amount of profanity than the story usually has.**

**Anyway, I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. I'll hopefully finish the next chapter by next week or so.**

**Chapter 12: A Wolfe's Calling**

"I think it's best if we split from here," Cissnei told him.

Victor agreed, but only acknowledged her with a nod. He stepped out of the car and faced his apartment building.

"Rude, if anything goes wrong," she said, "Don't be afraid to call me."

He nodded. "One thing."

"Yes?"

"What will happen with Damian?" he asked, lowering himself down to the window to face her.

Cissnei shrugged. "I suspect that he's heading to Midgar's VICE HQ. Tseng just sent me a text that he's got a meeting with the boss. Rude…I'll dig up some information on this. I'll call you, okay?"

"Stay in touch," he told her.

She gave him a smile before driving off. Rude's mind was still on his encounter with Aerith. Damian had left the scene back at the restaurant already, and Cissnei was left to talk to her. Shaking his head, he walked into his apartment building. Before he walked over to check his mail, he glanced at himself with the reflection through the window. It was already late afternoon, but that's not what he was focused on.

Carefully examining himself, Rude noticed how…unrefined he was. A beanie, a winter jacket, jeans, and boots. He didn't look the part of a VICE agent. Of course, he was comparing himself to Damian. Damian, though very sophisticated and suave, never came off as a hero. It was just that Rude could never tell what kind of person Damian was; he thought of people as one or the other. Either you're heroic or you're just another person. Heroes get the glory, the women, the fame. SOLDIERs were heroes. And yet, Damian held the complete attention of Aerith, who seemed like a person that revered only brave, heroic men. He just didn't understand.

Then again, he didn't know what was really happening between them. They—Damian and Rude—come from such a different world than people like Aerith. It was sort of an unwritten rule that people who were worlds apart couldn't fall in love. But, rules were made to be broken. Damian was doing it, so why couldn't he? Rude shook his head. His ideal woman was somewhat shaped by Damian, not that he found any distaste in it. A woman would have be someone who Rude could spend time with without bringing everyday business into the picture. She'd have to be a paradise from the cold hell that was his job.

_I should dress in a suit. _He concluded.

In many ways, Damian was correct. Men like them would need to do real work. They would be the legs of the world; the support beams that carried the playing ground for "heroes."

Being a hero had always been an indirect aspiration of Rude's, however. Growing up in tough neighborhoods was not easy. All children, especially those who spent a childhood like Rude's, would need a hero to set an example and guide them. There were no heroes in his childhood, and therefore, Rude promised to become somewhat of a hero by entering law enforcement. VICE was nothing that he had expected. Damian was not the typical enforcer.

Rude sighed and looked away from his reflection in the mirror. There was never a chance for him, he concluded. There was never an option.

As he went to check his mailbox, his phone began to ring.

"Hello?" he said as he answered the cell.

"Hey, Rude, it's Karen," the female voice said over the line.

It was Agent Karen Wolfe, one of the top agents in the department. Rude was surprised that she called him.

"Oh, hey," he replied. "What is it, Karen?"

"Have you seen Raven?" she asked him. "I tried getting a hold of him, but he wouldn't answer."

He unlocked the mailbox and began shuffling through his mail. "Nope, haven't seen him. Damian might know where he is. He's at HQ…meeting with the boss."

"Strange," Karen said. "Alone?"

"Uh, yeah," Rude answered hesitantly. "Why?"

The line was quiet for a few seconds.

"Hmm," she pondered. "Alright. Why don't you stop by the station and see what's happening?"

"What? Why me?" Rude asked. "I've been looking forward to taking a nap all day…"

"Something's going on," she then said. "Just be there, and tell me what happens afterwards."

He groaned with some frustration. "Fine, but you owe me."

Rude shut the phone and walked outside once again, calling for a nearby taxi. He would have to catch Damian's meeting with the boss.

* * *

Tifa opened her eyes and noticed the fine leather of the seat. The first thing she saw when she looked up was the blue sky, feeling the cold morning chill that came along with it. She sat up in her seat and pulled the seat up, eyeing the countryside with a stretching yawn. After a quick observation of her surroundings, she remembered what had happened the night before. Tifa turned around to see the back window, only that there wasn't one. It was clean, however. It must have been Rude who cleaned it up.

Opening the door, she stepped outside of the vehicle and leaned against the cold aluminum of the car, crossing her arms for warmth. Tifa, half-cringing, observed the environment for just a bit longer, noting that she hadn't been on this side of the outskirts before. When she looked over her shoulder, she noticed a diner that looked like it had been there for the last 10 years.

"Hey," a voice said.

Tifa turned the other way and noticed the dark, lifeless sunglasses. "Oh…hey."

Rude handed her something that was enveloped in a clear food plastic wrap. "I got you some breakfast. I didn't know whether you wanted yours with egg or sausage."

"So which one did you get?" she asked, accepting the presumed breakfast sandwich.

"I made them put all of it," he said, heading around the car to the driver's side.

She softly grinned to herself as they both got in the car. "Well, that's sweet of you. Thanks."

"I spent a good five minutes explaining why they should have a selection on the menu with a fully-loaded breakfast sandwich," Rude informed her. "I just wanted you to know how draining it was."

Tifa let out a laugh and opened the package, munching on the sandwich. "So…what's up?"

Rude pressed a button on the small screen right below the radio, which caused the screen to light up. "Well, we're on the run from a dedicated killer whom we've been lucky enough to escape twice. I'd say we're in good shape."

"Mm-hmm," she acknowledged. "Have you done any research so far?"

"Somewhat," he replied. "I'm trying to access government files. It's difficult because Shinra hasn't been involved in government agenda for over half a decade."

"So you're trying to find information on…Damian?" she asked. "What good will _that_ do?"

"I'm unclear as to why he's alive," Rude said.

Tifa's eyes widened. "What? He was supposed to be dead?"

"I never knew he was alive," he stated. "But I think there are two people who knew."

"Who?"

"Agents Raven and Wolfe," he said. "I think that's why the government wants them dead."

"They want them to die because they know that Damian was alive?" she asked with some absurdity. "But why did they have Damian pronounced dead in the first place?"

"Yes, exactly," Rude nodded. "That's what I want to know."

A ring on Rude's cell phone caught his attention. The ex-Turk stopped using the screen in his car and reached for it, holding the phone up to his ear after noticing the "unknown caller" words showing up.

"Hello?"

"Victor," a female voice said. "Are you at the diner outside the city?"

Her words gave him a slight shock. "What if I said 'no'?"

"Then you're lying," the voice replied.

"Who is this?"

"It's Karen."

Karen Wolfe? Contacting _him_? The feeling of surprise overcame Rude. In the back of his mind, he was quite relieved that he managed to get into contact with them. The bald man sighed and looked outside with a more upbeat attitude.

"Good, you're alive," he said.

"Meet me at the Fisherman's Pier in two hours," former Agent Wolfe told him. "I think I can help you with this…situation."

Rude nodded as she hung up and closed his phone, taking a breath. While Tifa was still eating her breakfast, he thought of Damian. Damian had actually tried to _kill_ Tifa, actually _tried_. Never in consideration was Damian's antagonism to Rude. Through all of the sessions they spent together—the moments of humor, arrests, search warrants, investigations, and even termination protocols—he just couldn't believe that Damian was on the other side of the gun this time. Though the former Agent was questionable, Damian was ultimately a mentor to Rude who knew the rules of crime—and knew them well. No other recruit could have asked for a better guide than Damian, because he was so alive, vibrant, smart, aggressive, and clever. When Rude saw him now, he saw a different man. The face was still there, along with the charm, style, and mannerisms, but something behind those eyes told him that this man had changed.

Biting his tongue, he knew that he was over-glorifying his former superior officer's ethics, if any existed. _She_ was what made him a better person. It was only too sad that VICE had to break apart.

The frustration of reflecting over the situation caused Rude to grip the steering wheel. He started up the car and sat there for a few seconds. Shutting his eyes, the man leaned his head forward to the top of the steering wheel and took a moment to collect himself, exhaling breaths of catharsis.

"You okay?" Tifa asked.

Rude didn't answer. He took some more steady breaths.

"I'm not either," she said, finishing up the breakfast sandwich. "Before you came to pick me up…I…had an argument with Cloud. He hasn't changed much."

Still, he didn't answer, but Tifa kept talking.

"I don't understand people who live in the past forever. I guess some of us can't change a thing no matter how much we control," she said. "There are some rules that just won't bend; some facts that can't be tainted. I spent just about three years waiting for Cloud to come around. I helped him—I tried to speak with him. He is an unbending person.

"I just couldn't wait anymore, you know. Everyone can move on. Everyone does. Those that don't accept themselves either never learn or learn the hard way. I feel pity for them…I guess people are still young," she told him. "Look…I don't know who Damian is. I don't think I'll ever understand why he does what he does. I just know that...after my experience with Cloud…he won't stop. Nothing will change his mind, even if you two once knew each other."

"That is why I must stop him," Rude said, slowly lifting his head back up to face the road. "I am the only one who _can_ stop him."

She looked at him with worried eyes and slowly shook her head. "Why do you say that?"

"Because I am the only one who has a decent understanding of him. Our world is a world that others don't understand," Rude stated. "People like _you_ wouldn't understand."

"People like me…?" she repeated, wondering whether to take offense to his words or not.

"Hell," Rude said, "I guess even I don't understand it sometimes. I'm the one caught in between."

Tifa kept an eye on him carefully before turning to look out her window. There were clouds in the distance, meaning that rain would come later. The slow hum of the engine could be heard, and it was the only sound between them.

"Once, I was on a VICE investigation with Damian," he said. "We were supposed to track down a small time gangster. He had raped and killed a 16 year old girl; pummeled her to death with a blunt object. I assumed it was a crime of passion, but the man himself protested.

"He knew he was going to hell; perhaps he'd be there in a few minutes; perhaps he was already there. He said that he enjoyed killing her, knowing that the first time he saw her, his plans were already set. It was inevitable. She couldn't stop what was coming. No one could have known," Rude said. "He said that he'd wanted to kill a girl for a long time.

Rude paused for a few seconds after his reflection of the past. The thoughts were as clear as day.

"I didn't know what to make of that. I didn't understand."

Even though his glasses were on, Tifa could feel his quandary. She looked at him, but he didn't return her look.

"Damian was the only one who did the right thing that day," Rude said. "He stuck to the job. He shot the murderer—gave him a clean death. I never usually questioned about our subjects, but I asked him why the man would do such a thing. Damian gave me a simple answer. He said, 'I don't care why he did it. It's my job to kill him.' I agreed with him. It was Damian's survival technique, and it worked quite well. Damian just never cared. He knew that it was only his job. At the end of the day, he'd go back home, and everything would be fine. He was a survivor.

"A man would have to put himself at risk to stop bad men. He would have to disregard all myths and morals…"

Rude took another moment to breathe as he contemplated, remembering each bullet fired, remembering the cold, damp alleyways, the murderers, the rapists. He'd always felt that he never quite left that world behind. Damian was a painful reminder.

"Like Damian, all I know is the goal: he needs to be stopped," Rude said. "I feel that it's my duty to stop him. Regardless of questions. Bottom line, he's going down."

She turned to him and gave him a worriedly contrary stare. "What if you fail?"

He didn't answer for a moment. What if he failed? What if?

"If I do," he answered, "then there better be a good reason why."

"Have you ever faced someone like Damian before?" she then asked.

Rude looked at her and slightly raised an eyebrow. "He's nothing like we've ever seen."

"And yet you're going to try to stop him," she smiled at his confidence.

"I must," he said. Rude stepped on the pedal and the car moved forward down the long winding road. "Otherwise, we'll die."

Tifa rolled her eyes. "Thanks for stating it so blatantly."

"Well, you know me…" he stated half-heartedly as he drove down the road to meet Karen Wolfe.

She shook her head. "No…I _don't_."

* * *

"Do you understand what you are?!" the man behind the desk said.

Victor couldn't hear what was happening behind the other room, but he could hear what the boss was saying to Damian.

"Yes, sir," Damian's robotic voice replied.

"Do you?" the annoyed boss asked. "Do you truly understand just…just how much money the government has invested in you?! For God's sake, Damian…you're not cut out for any relationships, especially with Ms. Gainsborough, who happens to be under Turk watch. I don't even have to think to suspect that there's something happening."

"I assure you there's nothing happening."

"Get rid of her," the boss said. "When we close off ties with Shinra, she'll only be a source of connection. Shinra might force the Turks to make her into an informant."

Damian didn't speak for a few seconds. "But sir, to be honest, we never speak about my work. She understands—"

"No, she doesn't," the boss insisted. "Even if she swore not to betray you, the Turks will make her do it in the end. Your workload has been lighter ever since you've dated her, too."

"Others consider me a workaholic," Damian replied. "Surely, progress has returned to normal?"  
"Just get rid of her," the boss said. "She doesn't belong in your world, nor you in hers. You're a 50 million gil killing machine, Damian, you're not a lover. You don't have a life. Don't make me remind you of what you are."

Rude backed away from the door as he felt his phone vibrating. Trying to hold what he had just eavesdropped would be difficult, but he had to answer his phone. He held the phone up to his ear as he walked over to his desk. Honestly, he never used his desk since he and Damian were always out. Either his or Damian's car was the ideal office for his everyday work.

"Yes?"

"Victor, did you listen to the meeting?" Karen's voice asked.

Rude nodded. "Yeah."

"So, anything?"

"The boss thinks that Aerith will be a connection between the government and Shinra since Damian is dating her," he informed.

"Huh," she acknowledged awkwardly. "I see."

Rude kept the phone to his ear as he shuffled through some paperwork on his desk. "Yeah. I don't think she'd ever be a rat though. She's too sweet on the eyes. And plus, she's tamed our notorious Hunter. He's been much more relaxed the few weeks that he's dated her. Plus, she's really into him and—"

"That's great, Rude," Wolfe replied somewhat painfully.

"You alright?" Rude asked.

"Yeah, I've just…just got this idiot driver in my way," she improvised.

"Uh-huh…"

"You don't believe me?"

"You can't lie for your life."

"Ugh, fine. Yes, it makes me uncomfortable."

Rude looked over his shoulder and spotted the doorknob to the boss's office turning a good 180 degrees. He turned back inconspicuously.

"Gotta go," he said. "Talk to you later."

He shut the phone and flipped through more of his papers while the door opened and closed. With the utmost caution, Rude tried to stay involved in paperwork.

"Where the hell have you been all day?" Damian's voice came from nearby.

Rude turned around and spotted his colleague, giving a slight nod gesture to acknowledge Damian's presence. It took awhile to come up with an excuse, but Rude managed to conjure one anyway.

"I was at home," Rude said. "But then, I forgot about some work I left here."

The Agent glanced at his watch and looked around, probably making decisions according to the time. "I've got an appearance at this staff meeting in a few minutes. Why don't you come with me?"

With that, Rude glanced at his watch as well, pretending as though he had other things to do. "Alright, fine."

As they made their way across the room, Rude noticed something strange, especially in the timing of the staff meeting. Why so late? It was already in the late afternoon, and neither Raven nor Wolfe was present. Why would Damian host a staff meeting now?

"Why?" Rude then asked. "Why now?"

"You'll see," Damian said.

He walked into the small meeting room where other recruits and associates were already sitting. The open blinds from the window let in some light that was slowly burning out as the day progressed.

"This is our top agent here," an Agent said, looking as if he had just finished talking to this group. "He's Agent Damian Hunter, and he knows better about this topic. He's our liaison to what's on the streets, and he's going to speak to us briefly."

"Alright," Damian said in a frank voice. "Let's get straight to it. I've got eyes and ears out there. I've got connections and informants. You won't know them, you won't see them."

The men in the room listened carefully to what Damian had to say. Damian commanded the room with a sort of respect, as if he deserved it.

"To put it simply, VICE is going to split sooner than we had anticipated," he said. "Some rat got in the system and learned about our more…secretive work. We don't know who or what it was. It could very well be some people in the system. Hell, it could be one of _you_ sniveling subordinate assholes in the room right now."

"Or it could be one of your informants," the Agent said to Damian.

"Or it could be you," Damian retorted snidely.

"Uh…what about our jobs?" another man asked.

"We won't lose our jobs, we'll be reassigned," Damian assured. "Don't bitch over it; it's the best our superiors can do."

"Why would they want secret information?" one of the men asked.

Damian shrugged. "Who knows? It doesn't matter. VICE is done. The rats are probably Shinra…or perhaps even whiny idealists."

"An undercover agent, maybe?" a Shinra liaison spoke up.

Damian looked upon the man with distrust. "Oh, you're very fucking smart, aren't you?" he said, then looking to the other VICE members. "Who the hell let this rat motherfucker through the door?"

"So what'll we do about it?" another VICE officer asked, returning to the central subject.

"Erase your hard drives," Damian said. "Destroy any security information that could give access to the government database. We'll all receive a year's worth of pay after this is all over, so don't shit in your pants just yet."

The Shinra liaison swiveled in his chair and spoke up. "Without asking for too much, do we have any counteraction with the, uh…main threat…here? How about we get some info?"

"How about fuck yourself?"

A small bit of laughter sounded in the room, and even Rude let out bits of chuckles to compliment Damian's previous retort.

"Treat Shinra contacts like sick dogs," Damian said harshly, looking as though he was ready to leave. "Feed them shit, keep them outside, and get rid of them if they can't keep up. You bitches have a nice day."

With that, Damian stormed out of the room leaving some subtle laughter behind. Rude sighed and crossed his arms as the other officer stood in front of them again, ready to issue some more information.

"Uh, don't mind Agent Hunter's attitude. I assure you he's just as worried as some of us," the man said. "Normally he's a very nice man."

Everyone let out some laughter, but the Shinra representative didn't, only sitting in his chair playing with his pen. The bald man looked down for a moment, then left outside to meet with his colleague. He followed Damian through the corridors and attempted to catch up to the man.

"Damian, wait up," Rude said as he caught up to him.

"Let's go for a ride," Damian ordered.

Rude didn't protest. He wanted to speak to Damian anyhow. Following the agent down the stairs and out the door, he kept a cool attitude in response to Damian's frustrated one. Clearly, the agent's aggravation had risen after his meeting with the boss. Rude was wondering if he should ask any questions or not.

After they got inside the car, Damian began driving out into the street, where vehicles still moved in and out.

"If you don't need anywhere else to go, I'll drop you off at home," Damian said, not looking at Rude.

The young man nodded carefully. "Okay."

It was only 15 minutes into the ride that they were held up by heavy traffic, and it still surprised Rude that traffic was heavy at this time. Then again, it was only 5:30. The sun shone brightly above, but the atmosphere was increasingly gloomy. The unusual quietness of Damian caused Rude some discomfort.

"I saw you coming out of the boss's room," Rude then said. "What was that about?"

He expected no answer from Damian.

"I'm being reassigned," Damian said. "He wants me to dump Aerith. They're going to place me in some government job somewhere."

"You're not staying in Midgar?" Rude then asked.

Damian shook his head. "I'm needed elsewhere. I damn near killed every criminal in this city already."

"Yeah, you did," Rude said.

"Like you, she's a good listener," Damian said, referring to Aerith. "I don't meet too many people who listen well anymore."

"Are you complimenting me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Damian reached for his back pocket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Just as Rude noticed this, he decided to roll down the windows, because he didn't like a concentrated aroma of nicotine. The agent put a cigarette up to his lips. A few precious seconds passed by before Rude noticed the inconsistency in Damian's manners. Quickly, Damian took the cigarette from his mouth and threw it out the window, tossing the packs along with it. He didn't look back when the traffic cleared up and they drove onward.

"You're quitting?" Rude asked awkwardly.

He shook his head. "I've lost my light."

The rookie nodded. "Oh."

"I think someone took it from me," Damian looked at Rude with a bittersweet smirk.

"What are you going to do about this thing?" Rude asked. "Aerith, I mean."

"I had thought she was just another girl in the slums," Damian stated. "It was a policy of mine to turn my back on any outside force whenever a threat came around. I was always prepared to do so. Every 10 minutes, I was ready. I was always in the moment and looking for what was next; always ready to leave everything behind when something greater came abroad."

"And Aerith?" Rude asked. "Because of this entire split…are you really going to leave her?"

"I ask myself that question, too," Damian answered. "She just wasn't another girl. She…she was willing to sit and listen to every word I had to say. She was always cheerful and helpful. It's just…"

Rude awaited his next words. Damian wanted to find the correct way to word what he was going to say.

"It's not fair for her," he said. "Nor for me. She's a dreamer, you know? She's a good person at heart, and because of that, I cannot have her. I can't change what I am, and I question myself for it. I…I guess I just couldn't see this coming, no matter how hard I looked for it. I was foolish, Victor. I thought I could change things…change everything. It's…it's just plain, bitter vanity that I have exercised on myself.

"I see now, though. I see what I must do for the both of us, to even things out. She's made me take a good look at myself, you know. I already know I'm not a good person, but I don't understand why I do what I do," Damian explained.

Victor could feel the dilemma that seized his mind. It was as though Aerith was something completely new that had happened to Damian. "It's because you never cared. You always say that you don't care."

Damian gave a hopeless smile and nodded. "I guess. When I first said that I didn't care, I understood why. The more times I said it, the more it lost its meaning. Now, it's just a vestigial term for something I no longer think about. I remember, though. I remember why I don't care."

"Why's that?"

"You're always vulnerable when you care for something. It throws you off your edge. It allows you to hurt; to feel for something that you shouldn't feel for. It allows you to sympathize, to empathize, to love, to hate. In order to survive, I just don't care," Damian then said.

"Aerith cares about you," Rude said. "Do you care about her?"

He thought about it for a moment.

"Yes, I do," Damian nodded.

"Then why don't you just quit the force?" Rude asked. "I mean, come on, I saw you speaking to Tseng earlier today…"

"You _what_?" Damian's eyes widened with certain surprise. "Where were you?"

"I was in the diner, Damian," Rude said. "I was with Cissnei. I know what Tseng told you. You can protect Aerith better than anyone else. Just quit the force…"

Damian shook his head. "It's not that easy. There are circumstances I can't run against."

"So what will you do, then?" Rude asked with some frustration. "You care about Aerith…"

"Because I care about her, I must leave her," Damian said. "I'm just not cut out for her, anyway."

"Quit being a fool…"

"You'll understand one day, Rude," he assured. "You won't see it coming, but it'll be there."

They finally arrived at Rude's apartment. Rude stepped out of the vehicle and left to the door. Before he went, though, he turned to look at Damian one more time.

Rude opened his mouth to say something, but couldn't find the words. Instead, he left Damian to his own agenda and turned around to his apartment.

**Well, there's that chapter. The next one will (hopefully) reveal some new information. I'm also planning an entire chapter based on one of the discoveries that Rude and Tifa will find, so I hope you guys will look forward to that. Anyway, I'll be busy all week, but don't forget to review! I might check my computer every now and then when I get the chance. Until the next chapter, people. See ya.**


	13. The Expletus Venator Conspiracy

**Wow, I think it's been almost 2 weeks since I've updated. I didn't realize I've been that busy. Anyway, I come with one of the few chapters that will reveal some new and crazy information. I hope you guys enjoy it. It's pretty long, and I'll be working on the new chapters as you guys read this.**

**Chapter 13: The Expletus Venator Conspiracy**

"We cannot speak for long," Wolfe had told him.

Agent Karen Wolfe was still the daring, young blonde that he remembered. It looked as though she hadn't aged a minute beyond their last encounter. Rude nodded, but also noticed how she stared at him strangely. It was probably because he had changed so much over the years.

"You look older," she then said.

Rude kept a stare out into the sea. The pier was quiet and reasonably full with people in the marketplace by now.

"I _am_ older," he said.

She smiled and looked at the young woman that he had arrived with. The black-haired woman was pacing in the marketplace, eyeing and browsing through the merchants' products.

"What's her name?"

Rude looked over his shoulder, but returned his sight towards the sea. "Her name is Tifa."

"Are you two…together?" she asked him.

Rude looked at Wolfe for a moment, looking into her blue eyes for just a moment, enough to telegraph a vague meaning.

"No," he simply stated. "She…we're not together."

"Mmhmm," she replied with some analysis. Her tone was slightly sarcastic.

He did not want to speak about it any longer. "So do you and Raven have any information? I hear it's why they're after you."

"Yes," she said. "We have a file on Raven's computer. It's what I've come to give you."

Wolfe pulled out a small flash drive and handed it to him. Rude accepted it and put it in his pocket unnoticeably.

"There are records there," she said. "It's all you ever wanted to know about why they're after us. It covers the Expletus Venator Project, and has some more info on confidential operations. This is more than enough."

"Enough for what?"

"We're targeting a branch of the government. As of now, those who operated the EV Project are the only ones who are aware of this information floating around. No other sections in Defense know about this," she explained.

"Why do I need it, though?" Rude asked. "It's just going to give them a reason to kill me."

"If we know Damian," she said, "he's already out to kill you."

The man bit his lip. It was true.

"Alright," he said. "I'll look at it later. So you're going public with this?"

"We'll see," she said. "The guys at the top of the government probably don't even know about this information. They're smart enough not to ask questions about the branch that ran the EV tests. So…if I show them, they'll either shut down that branch completely, or they won't care."

"I see."

"It depends on how they receive the news of the EV Project," she explained. "If the men in suits at the top of the federal defense branch have a heart, they'll have to charge the men who ran these projects in a federal court. Anyway…"

After that, she handed him a gum wrapper. Rude raised an eyebrow with surprise, wondering what to do with it. "Uh…"

"My phone number's in there," she said. "And so is Raven's. Raven's location should not be known right now, but mine is in a hotel across the resort nearby. It's called The Hotel Thade."

He put the gum wrapper in his pocket and sighed. "Anything else?"

"How's Damian?" she asked. "Did you get to speak to him?"

Damian…Damian. The man who tried to shoot at him and kill Tifa at the same time? _That_ Damian? Rude didn't like to think of him as Damian anymore. He didn't know who this man was.

"He tried to shoot me. That should explain itself," Rude replied. "He's changed a lot. Not quite the aggressive, productive agent anymore. More like a one-track, unforgiving killer."

She remained quiet.

"You're not surprised?" Rude asked. "I would imagine that you'd be surprised."

Wolfe shook her head. "It's understandable. You'll realize when you look at the files."

Rude gave her a strange stare, suddenly curious what was in the flash drive. Nonetheless, he acknowledged her comment and nodded.

"Did he look alright?" she asked. "Is he okay?"

"He's never been a peaceful soul," Rude said. "It looks as though he's no longer himself. He's just…walking death."

Wolfe looked away in a hurt fashion, signaling to Rude her pain.

"Forget about him," he then said. "He can never change. You'll feel better after you accept this as a fact."

"I'm not worried about that," she replied. "The question is: have _you_ accepted it?"

Rude nodded confidently. "Absolutely. It is without doubt that he must be stopped."

"You're going to stop him?" she laughed. Rude's expression remained firm and confident, half-expecting this reception.

"You underestimate me," Rude said. "If Damian can kill, so can I. And I do."

"Be sure to check out that file," Wolfe stated with a smile. A long, noticeable pause was filled with the sounds of crashing water, of workers and merchants conversing about, and the whistle of the wind blowing through the air.

"You haven't really aged yet. You only look older. Probably hung out with the wrong type of people, right?"

He shrugged with a sigh. "Believe what you want. Your theories aren't all true."

"Ditto."

Rude slightly scowled and turned away to return to Tifa. Before he could, Wolfe's voice from behind caught his ear.

"Protect her," she said, referring to Tifa. It was clear, but the wind almost blew it away. Rude didn't turn around, but stopped instead, and peeked over his shoulder as a sign of recognition. "You're the only one who can. I know you don't expect to hear this from me. I just want to play it your way now. Call me after you've viewed the flash drive. I'll answer questions. If you think you can really stop Damian…I won't be a negative force."

Slowly, Rude turned away and began walking again, though somewhat implying that he accepted her help. She watched him walk and smiled to herself. Small little flickers of the former Damian could be seen within him; the unshaken confidence, the experience, the tranquility during a storm. A few of the best parts of former Agent Hunter were shown; the man that she had once looked upon as her very own hero. Wolfe smiled to herself and looked out to sea, hoping to return to her hotel by late afternoon.

* * *

"So is that it?" Tifa asked him.

Rude nodded. "Yep. I got a flash drive. We'll check it out when we get back to the car."

"_When_ we get back, though," she said.

"Yes. I don't like your implication with that."

Tifa raised an eyebrow. "You think you're the only one who can read people?"

"Haven't we been through this already?" he asked. "I've clearly proven myself, and yet your highness is still unsatisfied?"

"Women are hard to impress," she reminded him with a sharp, casual tone. "Especially if the men are interested."

He almost smiled to her smart remark. "Who says I'm interested?"

She flashed him a sweet smile, as if she had gotten something out of his retort. Tifa lifted up a pair of sunglasses and put them on, which defined her facial features, and radiated an undeniable sense of sultriness as she kept that soft smile on her face.

"I haven't implied anything, _Victor_," she told him, emphasizing the tone on his first name. "But clearly your mind has made several assumptions about me."

"Calculations," he corrected her in response to her playfully clever statements. "Not assumptions. My calculations are appearing to be correct."

"Oh yeah?" she asked. "What calculations are those?"

"Well, if you can't figure that out, then we'll _never_ know, will we?" he said, beginning to walk away. "Keep yourself intact, you're not _that_ good."

Tifa's jaw almost dropped to his response. "How rude."

"Yep, that's me," he said. "Are you coming, or what?"

She gave him a cute frown while he stepped away, and sighed before following him. The thing on Rude's mind was the flash drive. He had absolutely no idea what would be in it, yet at the same time, he could only picture Damian when it came to mind. After all, Damian was sent after Raven and Wolfe, right? Rude's suspicions dug deeper. Perhaps Damian was after the information. If he and Tifa discovered the contents of the flash drive, would they be hunted, too? Rude was having trouble comprehending why the government was covering up this EV Project. It's not like Shinra never did anything like that. In fact, Shinra's activities easily overshadowed government agenda. This was, however, an opportune moment to kill off the rest of the survivors—Raven and Wolfe. They know something that could kill them. The last thing Rude wanted was the entire city to be in danger, which seemed unlikely. Damian wasn't that type of person, though he seemed fully capable of holding the city hostage.

As he shut the door, he took a breath while playing with the plastic shell of the flash drive, vacillating on whether to view it now or later.

Tifa closed the door on the passenger's side and analyzed his expressions.

"What now?" she asked. "Are we going to look into that?"

"We'll need to get a hotel," Rude said. "It's much harder to track us if we use a hotel connection."

"The nearby one?" she asked, looking at the hotel that towered behind the marketplace. "It's got a great view."

He shrugged. "Sure."

She smiled in response.

"We'll check in, then have a few hours to waste. Wolfe isn't too far away, and Raven is absolutely nowhere to be found. I think we've got time," he said. "How about we check in, then go out to lunch, then the beach, then the market?"

Tifa was almost shocked at his words. She was having trouble picturing Rude actually having "fun," since he barely ever smiled and always kept business close. With the opportunity of actually seeing Rude spend free time, though, she smiled at him again.

"Sounds good," she replied. "But why aren't we immediately watching what's on the flash drive when we get into the hotel?"

"I need a break," he simply told her, reclining in his chair.

Was it actually a break he needed? Or was it that he needed to buy time? She wondered, since his previous expressions gave a feel of indecisiveness. Maybe he was buying time for himself. Why would Rude need to postpone?

"Fair enough," she concurred, ignoring the thoughts in her mind.

* * *

The sun was setting. There was little to no light left, but as the sun reached the horizon, it actually beamed into the slums, giving just a bit of sunlight. The slums, even with the sunlight, were still cold and windy.

Thirty minutes later, the clouds had overtaken the skies again. It wouldn't matter if it was nighttime or not. Rain began falling down as the upper plates released water with its rain system. The wind remained prevalent.

They had warned him. They warned him that it would take his life. He didn't know why he resisted it. He didn't know why they allowed him to be this way. Damian was confused, and at the same time, he saw the big picture clearly. Why would they allow him to indulge in regular human pleasures if he could not enjoy them forever? Why were they taking Aerith from him? No. They were taking him away from _her_.

The same feeling. It was cold. He had thought he was used to it by now. It was the same chill that surrounded him whenever he arrested someone in a parking lot or terminated a target on the side of the road. When he had done it the fifth time, he didn't feel the cold anymore. He had become the cold, the sensation that crept up the spines of dead men, the howl that called their names into the night, the force that no one saw coming. Damian could feel it, though. It was familiar, but he was surprised that he was cold. Oh yeah, the cigarettes.

The cigarettes: the faint, dim light that kept him calm and composed out in the cold. It held him together, and in a sense, kept him sane. Was he sane? He had thought of quitting when he didn't need the light of a cigarette anymore, instead finding something greater for himself. And now it had to end.

She was crying, he imagined. Her quiet sobs could still be heard in the air, breaking his train of thought and concentration. If he knew it was not meant to last, then why was he hurting? Damian saw all the signs. It was all there, the warnings. Yet, he ignored them, and he wondered why he did such a thing; such a foolish and costly thing. He agreed with them: it was his fault. It was his fault that he began a relationship with this naïve, foolish girl who was better fit to be in love with some young, mindless hunk from SOLDIER.

The cigarettes. He was finishing up a cigarette.

"Why?" Aerith asked weakly, tears streaming down her cheeks. Damian's back was turned to her, facing the church entrance which would soon become his exit.

"That's just the way it is," he said. "It's what I have to do."

"You don't have to do this…"

He looked down, and slightly peeked over his shoulder. "Everyone says that."

"You're not in control of yourself," she then said, turning her back to him, sniffling. After, she shook her head with rejection. "No. It's…it's not that way. No…"

"It's both cases," Damian said with some forced ease. "I've never had complete control of myself. Yet, in the end, it's just my rules that govern me. Nothing else."

"It's your boss, isn't it?" she asked. "Your…circumstances…"

Damian tried to be increasingly indifferent. He didn't want to be here any longer. All he wanted was to walk away.

"I met you the same way I've met other people," he said. "And if I can walk away from them, I can walk away from you."

A tear fell down onto one of the flower petals as she bent down to examine her flowers. "You don't mean that."

"Yes, I do."

"If you did, you would have walked already."

He bit his lip and pulled out another cigarette, hastily lighting it and taking a drag. Saying goodbye to her was becoming unbearable.

"I can't do this anymore," he simply said. "With these…snakes…these…sniveling bastards sitting behind their desks and drawers. But, I must. It's what keeps me alive."

"Damian…why?" she asked again.

He exhaled a breath of smoke and kept his eyes shut.

"I come from places that you don't understand. I've seen things that you've never seen. I…I don't even know who I am anymore. I don't know what I'm doing here, or why I am doing it. I just know that I'm doing it.

"Look, I'm not like you," he explained. "I am different. We are worlds apart, you and I, and because of this, it cannot work. All I wanted was something to keep me content…"

Her eyes widened to his last few words. "Content? So we were together…just so you can throw me away later? Did I make it that easy for you?"

"I've been lying to myself, Aerith," Damian asserted. "I thought that this relationship would work. It won't. This whole time, I've just been…blinding myself to keep me happy, and now—"

"And now you're just going to walk," she cut him off.

"Yes, because I can't run from truth."

A silence came in between them as thoughts flew around in their minds, all consisting of perceptions, calculations, and uncertainty wrapped in a flood of emotions. When the quietness lingered for too long, Aerith turned around and wrapped her arms around Damian from behind.

"I know you don't want to do this," she said. "I don't want you to leave. You don't know how important you are to me…"

The naiveté in her voice was enough to make him sick. She was so innocent, so blind that it caused an entire shift in his mood. It gave him a bitter feeling, most of all, which told him that he didn't belong. The border between their worlds was evidently solid, and he could see that he could no longer stay in both worlds. In the end, his decision was final, and he would have to accept who he was. Damian didn't want to be here anymore and instead pushed her away, gripping her wrists as he uncompromisingly looked into her eyes.

"You foolish girl!" he scolded, staring painfully into her. "You foolish, foolish little girl!"

Tears continued to fall down her cheeks as she feebly managed to whimper out, "Damian…you're hurting me…"

Damian forced her around to face the mirror that hung on one of the pillars. The beautiful face that could be seen from the smallest bit of light stared into itself as she looked at the mirror. He wanted to emphasize her lack of maturity; her adolescence.

"Look at you!" he yelled aggressively.

He hadn't looked at the mirror yet, but was gripping her close enough to smell her faint, sweet scent, his nose unknowingly scanning along her neck while breathing harsh, predatory breaths. With tears running down her cheeks, Aerith couldn't bring herself to resist his strength, and instead looked at the woman in the mirror that was held by a dark silhouette from behind. Damian looked up to the reflection, and his focus was no longer on her scent. His strength had almost died.

"Look at you," he said with some forced aggression.

She was naïve, and he saw it within her. It was a trait that he could not survive with, yet it was a trait that allowed him to open to her, because Aerith was no corrupted by the darker world. Something about her was what kept him interested, and that same "something" is what he no longer admired.

Yet, as he looked at her, no part of her displayed adolescence. The soft light's reflection against her perfectly smooth skin, her mature, womanly figure, those beautiful, grown eyes; he was stunned with disbelief, almost sure that he was looking at some other woman. Aerith's tears were the bitterness that corrupted the complete portrait of the woman. And it was he who brought the tears.

A long moment of realization within Damian brought about a change in the air, and she sensed it almost immediately. Aerith's eyes no longer stared at her reflection, but looked up at paralyzed silhouette that bound her. His harsh grip of her wrists slowly weakened to a gentle grasp.

"Look at you…" Damian droned with nothing left but weakness.

Immediately, he released his grip on her and turned away, breaking the moment between the two. Aerith no longer worried about the pain of his previous control of her, and looked at the mirror for another few seconds, wondering what had caused him to nearly hurt at the sight of her image.

It was something he could never have.

"I'm not what you're looking for," he said. "Our paths were not meant to cross."

"You don't believe in fate," she told him.

"But I believe in reason," he countered. "And my reason does not lie here."

He was not the same man that she had kissed yesterday.

Before she could think any further, Damian had already taken a few steps out. Frantically, Aerith rushed forward and grabbed him by the shoulder, hoping to stop him in his tracks.

"Damian, wait—"

But she couldn't hold on as he shrugged off her grip. It was the coldest gesture she had ever received. She dropped to her knees and watched as the silhouette took steps out the church, hearing the echo of his shoes stepping on wood.

"You haven't finished your story yet," she mumbled.

Damian stopped in mid-step and peeked over his shoulder.

"About you. I don't even know who you are..."

"I'm no one," the deep, cold voice resounded through the church. "I don't exist. Forget you ever knew me, because I _will_ forget you."

She couldn't even respond to his last statement because he had already left the church. A chill made its way across the room as the door opened and closed again, the cold breeze causing her to cringe at the feeling of something alien. It was odd, though, that Damian easily walked into such conditions, as if he were familiar with them. He didn't even leave with a kiss.

* * *

Wolfe took another sip of her wine as she spent another night away at the bar in her hotel. Often she'd get looks across the room from all sorts of men, but all it took was one glare to shoo them away, perhaps even scare them. Tonight, though, she didn't care for some reason.

"Would you like anything else with that, Mrs. Wolfe?" asked the bartender who seemed to be acquainted with her since she spent most of her nights at the bar.

"No, thanks," she smiled hopelessly. Her exchange with Rude was what remained on her mind. Deep within her, she knew that she would have to help Rude in any way possible, feeling as though she needed to protect him. But how?

Rude was still very much young, but it is inspiring. She smiled at that.

A voice from behind spoke to the bartender; just another customer. The others sat in the rest of the stools around the bar, except for the two that were next to her. No one wanted to tangle with Karen after the small barfight a few days ago.

"Vodka martini, please," the man said, surprisingly sitting next to her.

"You got it," the bartender replied.

Wolfe did not look at him, and instead wondered whose deep, smooth voice it was. On top of that, she was slightly intoxicated as this was her third drink tonight.

"People don't usually sit next to me, you know," she said. "Well…if you noticed."

"Don't worry, I'm about to leave when I get my drink," the man said.

"That's…that's understandable," she said, having trouble concentrating.

"Come on," the man then said with some ridicule. "You can come up with a better response than that."

She smiled and kept her eyes on her drink. "What if I told you that I preferred to be alone tonight?"

"Based on your manner and speech, I would say that's ridiculous," he replied, causing her to slightly giggle.

"Is that your way of giving me a compliment?"

She could see his shrug from the reflection on her wine glass. "Well, only if it allows me to sit here."

"How do you know if I'll grant you the right to sit here or not?" Wolfe then asked, still looking at the reflection of the wine glass.

It looked as though he was grinning or smiling. "There are always more interesting women in the room."

The bartender delivered the drink, and the man began making his way through the alcohol, but he hadn't left yet.

"Then why are you spending your time here?"

"With all due respect," he said, taking a taste of the alcoholic beverage. "I was just here for my drink. I believe it was _you_ who initiated the conversation."

"And what does that prove?"

The man let out an exhale. "It proves that you're alone, slightly intoxicated, and desperately need someone to talk to."

"You're referring to yourself."

"Well, you're the one who spoke to _me_, right?"

Something clicked in her mind. The speech pattern was so familiar to her, especially in the delivery of the words. He always had a smooth charm to him, and she had no idea how he kept it up. Perhaps it was the only thing that helped him come across as "more humane." With widened eyes, she turned to her right and faced the man in the gray suit. Damian gave her a grin as he was finishing his drink.

"You," she groaned with hints of trepidation and disgust.

"Yes, me," Damian replied, taking a sip of the vodka martini.

"I won't ask you how you found me," she said.

Damian took one more swallow of the martini and set the empty cup on the bar counter. "Let's go to your room."

"I don't think I've had enough drinks for that yet," she teased, her insides feeling as though they've become cold and cemented. "You won't get me in the room as easy as you used to."

"No, I think I will," he replied. The voice managed to seize a cold grip up her spine. "These people in the room are just as liable as you are right now. I'm just making it easier for you."

Wolfe looked down and a bleak, bitter smile stretched across her lips. She quickly fixed her blonde hair and tipped the bartender before standing up to leave. Damian stood up and fixed his suit, following her out the bar and into the hotel lobby. They headed towards the elevator with Damian holding Wolfe closely to his side.

"Deviate and innocent bystanders get the first rounds," he quietly said to her.

* * *

The moment was perfect for browsing the contents of the flash drive. Rude, in his undershirt, powered up his laptop and sat at the computer. The day was spent nicely, he thought. Overall, he managed to show Tifa a good time while maintaining his normal self. In fact, she was in a happier mood by the end of the day, meaning that taking the day off was just what they needed, though he knew that Damian was still out there.

From behind the hotel room, the door opened, and Tifa came in, dressed in her pajamas for the night, her hair still wet as she dried it off with a small towel. She greeted her neighbor with a smile and walked up to the table.

"What'cha doing?" she asked.

"I'm about to check the files. You're right on time," he told her.

Rude clicked open the "My Computer" folder and the list of connected drives appeared. He took a moment to breathe first. Tifa smiled and let out a bit of laughter, placing both hands on his shoulders, giving him a good rub.

"Moment of truth," she said with a grin. "Don't back out now."

After her words, Rude clicked on the file and several folders appeared; folders that contained a wealth of deadly information.

They browsed through several folders and profiles. One folder listed the names of dead VICE members; probably created by Wolfe and Raven to keep track of them. Others listed previous missions issued by different government branches. In truth, there was too much information just to browse through. Rude needed the information on Damian. After a quick search, he managed to find Damian's profile in one of the VICE sections.

"Damian," Tifa began to read. "Former government agent, freelance agent, etc., etc."

"There isn't much information on him," Rude then said. "His other folder should be located around here. Either that, or it's scattered around this flash drive."

"Did Wolfe and Raven ever group the info?" she asked.

Rude rubbed the back of his neck. "Let me check."

He poked around a little more before finding a created folder containing all of the known information about Damian.

"Ah, here it is," Rude said. He clicked on a few folders before something caught Tifa's eye.

"Wait, stop!" she said. "There's a file. Gainsborough Files. What kind of folder is that? Wait…"

At that moment, Rude remembered Damian's connection to Aerith. That was another story, however, and did not seem to link to any of what was happening. However, due to Tifa's sudden interest, he clicked on the folder.

"I forgot to tell you," he said. "Damian had a relationship with Aerith long before you guys met her."

She raised an eyebrow. "Why haven't you told me about this?"

"I said I forgot," Rude repeated.

"Well, did he love her, or something?" she asked.

"I…" he started. "Well, to this day, I honestly don't know."

Tifa caught the eye of another folder. "Look."

Rude watched as she pointed to a folder in the Gainsborough Files. "Expletus Venator Connection" was what it said. So the EV Project _does_ have a connection to Aerith, he thought. As Rude clicked on the folder, he noticed that there was no direct connection to her. Oddly, he was relieved.

"So was she involved with this EV thing?" Tifa asked.

He shook his head. "No. But one of the people she knew was involved."

Several names appeared in the small article he clicked.

Damian.

VICE.

Shinra Research Department.

Hojo.

Zack Fair.

"Zack Fair?" she asked with some disbelief. "He was Cloud's mentor…"

"We were supposed to search for him the day he died," Rude said. "I wonder how he was connected to this. I wouldn't imagine that he knew much. Perhaps it's the reason…"

She looked at him. "Reason for what?"

"Well, he died because he was an escapee of Hojo's experiments back in Nibelheim, and he knew too much about the incident that happened there," Rude said. "When it was burned down."

"He was that SOLDIER that came with Sephiroth," Tifa stated gloomily.

"Right," Rude said. "They had a mission in Nibelheim."

She wondered why he would be connected. "But why would information regarding Shinra be in the EV folder?"

"Wait," Rude interrupted.

The cursor highlighted a small video file in the corner.

"Look, it's a briefing file," Rude said. "The date is on the day that he died. Now what was the government up to on that day?"

"Click it," Tifa said.

**I think that's enough for this chapter. I don't have much else to say, other than the next chapter will be an entire flashback. Well, I know I didn't reveal much, but more excitement will be present in the next few chapters. Stay tuned guys. Next chapter will be up soon. Please review!  
**


	14. The Price of Freedom

**Well, I actually have a short chapter this time! But, this chapter holds something special about our antagonist, Damian. This chapter is an entire flashback, but it's separate from the "past" storyline because it's a telling of what Rude and Tifa are seeing in the briefing file, and more. I'm kind of rewriting an event here, but it adds up to the characterization of Damian. Read it and enjoy.**

**Chapter 14: The Price of Freedom**

"I trust your flight wasn't too horrible, Damian?" the man in the suit said. "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

Damian took a drag of the cigarette and tossed it into the ashtray. "What's the job?"

"Straight down to business, huh? I enjoy that," the man said. "No thoughts?"

"About what?"

"Midgar. And why you're back here."

He shook his head. "No. I'm familiar with it, though."

"Good," the man acknowledged. "Your target is a man on the run. Shinra Security has tracked his location and is advancing against him now. He's already taken out a squadron of Security troops."

"The man?" Damian asked.

The superior handed Damian a file across the table. Tank sounds could be heard outside, along with marching troopers. Luckily, the tent was there, otherwise they'd be getting mud all over themselves. The rain wasn't helping either.

"His name is Zack Fair," the man told him. Damian opened the file and looked at a few pictures of the young man. "Former 1st Class SOLDIER. He was picked up about 4 years ago at Nibelheim, during the incident there."

The hunter peered over the pictures a few more times. "What did he do?"

"He escaped a few months ago," the official informed him. "Shinra wants him dead."

"Why are we involved?" Damian asked, referring to the government.

"Because Zack knows something," the government official told him. "Investigators noticed that Mr. Fair had looked over some information regarding some of our more…confidential information. Specifically the EV Project. You're familiar with this project, I assume?"

He sighed as he continued to look through the folder. "Every bit of it, Mr. Smith."

Every superior Damian had met was named "Mr. Smith." He got into the habit of calling every contact that name, too.

"They tell me you're the best," he said.

"You're not the first one to say that," Damian muttered.

As the pictures and information passed through his sight, one particular photo completely caught his attention. It was him and some…girl. She looked very happy, and dressed in a beautiful white-and-red dress. It looked as though they were in one of the districts of the slums. He stared at the picture for a whole five seconds, examining her brown, beautiful hair, her captivating green eyes, and her painfully sweet smile. He felt a sense of familiarity with her, but couldn't feel anything beyond that.

"Any questions?" the man asked him.

"Who's this girl?" Damian asked. He handed the picture to the government official.

The government man looked at the photograph for a second. "You don't remember her?"

He shook his head. "No, but I recognize her."

"I see," he said, jotting down some notes. "I'll explain who she is when you return."

"Is this a game you're playing?" Damian asked.

"No," the man replied. "But giving information on her could skew your judgment."

"Clearly you haven't heard of me, then."

"Just trust our calculations, Agent Hunter. Please."

With a sigh, Damian nodded and tightened his recon suit. He checked the blade proof vest and the thin, but powerfully unique padding on his arms and legs. Damian loaded his sub-machinegun and checked his offensive handgun in the holster on his belt. Lastly, he put on the tight balaclava over his head, covering all aspects of his face except for his eyes. With the sense of readiness already within him, he stood there for the man's last words.

"Alright. A chopper will carry you to the location. You have to complete the job before the Turks come to get him," the government man said. "You're dismissed. Be back soon."

Damian nodded and slipped on a protective breathing mask so the cold rain wouldn't interfere with his confrontation. He walked outside into the downpour and breathed the damp air. Today was a fine day to kill.

Walking up to the loud chopper, he greeted the pilot and buckled himself into one of the seats. The chopper flew over hills, but it was only five minutes before it came to a halt. Over here, the sky was still clear as day, but he predicted that the clouds would soon move to cover up this area. Damian looked down below as the young former SOLDIER finished off a few more troops. He didn't look wounded, or tired.

The chopper lowered to a place a good few steps from where Zack was and Damian hopped out. Immediately, the chopper ascended again and flew off into the distance. He took a moment to survey the surroundings, noticing that they were on a hillside, and Zack had no place to escape. The Shinra troops that were advancing retreated at the sight of Damian, standing aside as the man came to do his work. Damian loaded the sub-machinegun and took a walk up the hill to meet Zack, who was cornered at the cliff.

At the sight of Zack as he made his way to the cliffside, Damian wondered why men like him would attempt to resist through force, which pushed them to their very limits; to the fringe of their wills. It was bad enough, he assumed, since the government even had to call _him_ in to help.

The young soldier, running a hand through his thick, black hair, sighed while he shook his head.

"Boy oh boy, the price of freedom is steep," Zack said to himself.

Damian saw that he had heroic traits, all of which could be seen and heard through his last words and gesture. The woman in the photograph perhaps loved him, but why did a sense of hurt overcome his heart? He was neither angry nor sad, but satisfied in a painful way. It didn't matter. Damian ignored his emotions and returned to the subject matter.

"The cost of information is deadly," he told Zack.

"You're not one of them," Zack said with a grin.

He shook his head. "No. You know information that shouldn't be known."

"You're government, aren't you?" Zack then asked. "They sent you to kill me?"

Damian's voice had a corrupted sound as it passed through the protective mask. "That does not matter."

"Well, I read on that government file," Zack added. "Sounds a lot like what happened to some of us."

"I don't care."

"Look at you," Zack said to him. "Look at what they made you give to become what you are."

"I give it gladly," Damian said, gripping the sub-machinegun.

"Do you?" Zack gave off a smile. "You're not fun to talk to. What's your name?"

"I am death," Damian replied, drawing a combat knife to go hand-in-hand with the sub-machinegun. "The ender of all life."

The young man drew his blade and held it in front of him, shutting his eyes in meditation.

"Embrace your dreams," he muttered to himself. "Prove your honor—"

A few gunshots sounded into the open air, and three bullets hit his blade in succession, throwing his grip off balance, causing Zack to stumble backwards. He opened his eyes and gave Damian a surprised glare.

"There's no honor in battle," Damian said, smoke coming out from the gun. "There's only the survivor."

Zack stood back up and gripped his blade, ready to fight. "If you are death, then I am an angel, immortal in every way."

"An angel, huh?" Damian said. "I'll turn you into one."

Zack came rushing with his blade, but Damian easily maneuvered out of the way. Damian fired off a few rounds on the sub-machinegun, but the mako-fueled soldier's reaction quickly blocked the bullets with his blade. A look of astonishment filled Damian's face, but it could not be seen under the mask. This was the power of SOLDIER.

Before Damian knew it, Zack was already swinging that huge blade at him. He ducked and jumped out of the way several times, but the young man was much quicker than he seemed. Not only that, but Zack seemed to tower over Damian since he was 6'3 and Damian was only 5'10. He blocked the next hack with his sub-machinegun, but the blade was so powerful that it severely bent the gun. Before he could toss the gun aside, the blade nearly brushed the tip of Damian's arm. The next swing, however hit the mask that Damian wore, disfiguring his sight temporarily.

Falling backwards, Damian regained balance and watched as the rain clouds made their way over their heads. He stood up straight and grabbed the mask that he wore, throwing it away, along with the broken sub-machinegun. Taking a breather, he was somewhat relieved that Zack was such a fool to let him collect himself. Instead of talking, though, Damian readied his blade. After reviewing Zack's maneuvers, it was time for the offensive.

Zack stared into Damian's eyes, and the dark, piercing gaze was hard to look at as he brought his blade back into position.

Damian held the knife with readiness. The former SOLDIER burst forward again, but Damian quickly outmaneuvered Zack and managed to slice the end of his abdomen. Much to Zack's surprise, this enemy, too, was far different than the others. Instead of hanging back like he did a few minutes ago, Damian remained close to limit the reach of Zack's blade. Dodging elbows and kicks, he waited for the right opportunity. Zack threw one more roundhouse kick, and just like that, it was over.

The assassin caught Zack's leg and, with the blade, sliced the two tendons at his ankle and knee. It was such a quick flash that the young man didn't even notice. Damian let go of his leg and watched him struggle to balance. The first raindrop fell, then it began to rain. Hard.

Zack, leaning on his only working leg, stood up and attempted to lift the blade with his left hand. Damian rushed forward and sliced the tendon connected to his forearm, rendering his grip useless. Dropping the blade, Zack could not react as the assassin shoved the knife into his chest and landed a powerful kick that sent him flying back a few good feet, crashing and sliding across the mud on the high cliff.

The killer waited for a few moments, hoping that the young man was dead. Instead, Zack stood right back up and pulled the combat knife out from his chest, twirling it in his hands. Weakly, Zack held the blade-end of the knife and attempted to throw it at Damian.

Two shots rang out.

With widened eyes, Zack barely made out the handgun that was held in Damian's hands. He was surprised that Damian had brought the gun so quickly from his waist and landed the two succinct shots. It was like the thunder in the rainfall. The young man, weakened from the double tap, felt blood coming up from his lungs. He coughed out some blood and fell on his back, letting out a groan of bitter defeat.

Damian stepped up to the dying man and watched the life disappear from his eyes. It was a sight just like any other target. They all valued life towards their end, and Damian was indifferent to watching them die. No one truly valued life until death came upon them. However, this one couldn't be allowed to live any second longer. He held the pistol up to the dying warrior.

"Aerith…" Zack managed to groan painfully.

The name caught Damian's ear. However, he ignored the name and fired one last shot at Zack, hopefully killing him completely. If he were still alive, then he wouldn't have long. Damian held a finger up to the device in his ear as he began to walk back down the hill. Though he couldn't see it, a figure was crawling its way up the hill to meet with the fallen soldier.

Zack was now one of many heroes that the Hunter had brought down. Another dream destroyed, another life ended. Damian did not involve personal disputes into work, nor did he bring emotions into it. Murder was a trade, and the business was good. But he considered other things. What would he need the money for? He shook his head to repress the thought and continued.

"Moving to extraction," Damian said into the device. "Mission complete."

He could not cease his mind to continue wandering about the last breath that Zack let out.

"Aerith," he muttered to himself. The name was so familiar, but he could not recall. "Aerith, Aerith…"

_Could it have been the woman in the picture?_

Damian marched back down the hill to the flatland, where the chopper would arrive to extract him. The troops had already left the field, completely gone and nowhere in sight. Just a few minutes left before the chopper arrived.

When the loud, deafening noise of the blades could be heard, Damian stood up and awaited the helicopter to land. He watched as it nestled into the dirt and its back doors opened up for passengers. Walking up to the entry ramp, Damian's mind was still fixed on the word Aerith. Was it some sort of code? Did it bear any sort of meaning? Because he could have sworn he heard that name before.

The entry ramp closed shut and the helicopter began lifting off again as the killer sat down. He put the pieces together quickly, making several assumptions about the word Aerith, and the young man he had just killed.

_Zack and Aerith. Zack is Aerith? No. Zack and Aerith…Zack and Aerith. Zack loves Aerith. Zack loves Aerith._

Aerith must have been the woman in the picture, he concluded. She must have loved Zack. It was a pity that their love was so short-lived, and that Damian broke it apart. He was the reality in this land of heroes; he was its judge, its law, and its rules. If they loved each other, then why were they separated? He was probably returning to her; a hero who could take all comers; a hero who believed that he could hold the world in his hands. Such men were not meant to last.

Damian pulled out a cigarette and a lighter and removed the balaclava mask as the chopper soared across the desert land. Lighting the tip of the cigarette, he took a drag and exhaled the comforting smoke, dismissing all thoughts and returning to his normal state of mind; lost in time and space forever. He was death, the ender of all life, the ender of himself. The unstoppable force.

And that was it.

Just another day at the office.

**I know, it's a very strange chapter, especially Damian. I'll have it explained in the next chapter, which will come up very soon, so don't take too long of a break from the website. Interesting, new revelations will be revealed soon, and I'll explain everything. Stay tuned, guys.**


	15. The Expletus Venator Conspiracy, Part II

…**And you thought that Chapter 13 was it. Shame, shame. Well, anyway, this very long chapter contains a very heavy (though summarized) explanation about the EV Project, and what happened during the trials. Along with that is some more character development for Rude, among other interesting tidbits. Hope you guys enjoy this one.**

**Chapter 15: The Expletus Venator Conspiracy, Part II**

"What the…"

Rude had trouble understanding the significance of what he had just seen. From the briefing to the battle to the debriefing, he was thrown into something new entirely. The camera on Damian's suit was well placed, indeed. He was surprised that Damian was the cause of Zack's death, but even more so was he surprised by Damian's demeanor. Damian did not remember Aerith. Four years was no excuse to forget her, either. He truly did not remember who Aerith was. The disturbing silence of Damian's time spent waiting for the chopper signified his state of thought.

"He killed Zack," Tifa said, turning away with some misery. "Cloud…"

"That," Rude started, "and the fact that he didn't remember Aerith is perplexing."

A moment of silence came about, and the two were spending the time in thought.

"I'll look around a bit more," Rude told her. "After I've gotten the big picture, I'll probably call up Wolfe and discuss a few things."

Tifa nodded. "Okay. What do I do in the meantime?"

He looked away and bit his lip, hoping to find something for her to do.

"Well? Is there anything I can help you with?"

"I'll look at the info on the drive. I'll explain everything to you," Rude said. He was still unsure of himself, but decided to speak his next few thoughts. "Why don't you call Cloud or something? I think he misses you."

_I'm such a chump._

Her expression faded and she turned away, walking over to his bed and sitting down. "I don't think so."

"Can't hate him forever," Rude commented, returning to the computer.

"Oh yeah?" Tifa asked with some offense. "What would _you_ know about that?"

Shrugging, the former Turk began clicking on files. "I don't. Like a friend, I'm just here to make suggestions."

Letting out a groan, she fell back on the bed lazily and stared at the ceiling. "I don't think I'm ready to look for a guy just yet. Maybe I should apply for a college or something. You think Rufus would help me out with that?"

"The boss is busy," Rude told her without turning around. "But just because I'm nice, I can probably put in a word for you."

"How is he, by the way?" she asked.

"Busy."

"Oh."

"He's making better choices," he added. "Lately, though, he's been really government-involved. I don't see him much since he's using some of the newer guys as bodyguards. Reno and I have had lots of time on our hands, only doing a few jobs during the week."

She lied on her stomach and faced his back that was turned to her because he was still typing. "And what do you do on _your_ free time?"

"Most of the time, you feel rather useless because your boss is off doing other things," Rude informed. "Generally, you get used to it. I spend my time on more community affairs with Reno. Community cleanups, rehabilitation centers…all kinds of services. Mainly enforcement, though."

Tifa gave a surprised look. "Never figured that you'd be the community type."

"That's why I joined VICE in the first place," Rude said, then turning around to face her with one eyebrow up. "I assumed you'd connected the dots by now."

She responded with a sweet smile. "I thought you calculated, not assumed."

"Well played," he replied.

"You grew up in a bad neighborhood?" Tifa asked, intrigued by his sudden openness. It felt like another moment back at the bar, when he told her stories of his days back in VICE.

Rude retuned to the laptop. "Of course. How'd you know?"  
"I calculated," she said cleverly.

After her words, she thought she heard a slight chuckle from him, but had trouble hearing it because his back was turned. It was too indistinct to be confirmed, and she was irritated by that.

"The neighborhood was horrible. A gang murdered one of my friends once," Rude began, catching her attention. "I wanted to get revenge. He was my best friend. You know why they killed him? He had money, and he didn't want to give it to them."

Intently, Tifa listened to his words, grasping each breath of explanation he gave to her.

"That friend of mine was not a strong person," Rude said. "I was bigger than he was, and often I'd find myself protecting him against some of the other punks in the neighborhood. They would never mess with my friend, because I was good at fighting and staying out of trouble. The time they murdered him was the only time I told him I couldn't hang out because I was going to a party with some of the 'cooler' kids at the high school. I had offered for him to come, but he insisted that he'd walk home instead. I went to the party, got drunk, and didn't know a thing about it.

"When they found his body down by the canal, I was too shocked to cry or to feel anger. Instead I went home and rethought everything about myself. I told myself I'd never fool around again, and that I'd always defend my friends in any way possible. It probably explains why I never talk much when others are around. But I wanted revenge, you see. I was still too young back then.

"However, my friend's father was an officer of Shinra Security, and, well, he was a good mentor to me. He laid down the values, and told me that if I really wanted to stop crime, I would have to join the force. I trained in the Shinra Security Academy, but I wanted to really hit the bad guys hard. That's when I joined VICE."

His words could be felt, even if he didn't turn to face her. He seemed too busy on the computer, yet was willing to open up to her.

"So," Rude cleared his throat, clicking on the mouse. "My friend was murdered for being strong when the moment called for it. He was murdered for doing the right thing, and he always did the right thing. Explain to me the justice of that, because I don't understand it."

"I'm sorry, Rude," she said.

"Don't apologize," Rude replied. "You can't apologize for something you weren't involved in. I don't need anyone's pity."

Tifa gave a bittersweet smile. "That's Damian talking."

"Back then, Damian's intentions were right in every way," Rude stated. "I'm glad I signed up for VICE. If it wasn't for Damian, I wouldn't have seen the world for what it was.

"Still, I don't think I can ever be like Damian. He truly was the best agent, though. Back then, he could clean up the 'filth' on the streets in the blink of an eye."

She rested her head on her hand after propping up her elbow. "How is Damian _right_, though?"

"You'd have to put your soul at risk to change anything," Rude stated. "I just don't think I can sacrifice all of myself to become something else entirely. I only know the difference between right and wrong. That's the way I'll always be. Damian showed me how parts of the world worked; he saw the shades of gray that were the world. But that's not how the world works for me. I've created my own truth, and I'm sticking to it.

"I don't know if I'll have to become something else completely to stop men like Damian. I've seen his world, but the way he acts…it's just something that's far out of my zone," he said. "Either way, I'll get to the bottom of this mess, and hopefully bring a measure of justice to this chaotic world."

Tifa stood up and walked up to Rude, putting both hands on his shoulders as she did when she entered the room. Rude gave a somewhat uncomfortable breath, but continued to type on the computer anyway. Unbeknownst to him was that Tifa truly saw him in a different light now, and unbeknownst to her was the broad smile that remained on her face.

"I don't think you hear this much, Rude," she said, lowering her face to see the computer screen. "But I think you're a really sweet, brave guy."

He didn't respond to her, but she turned to him and gave him a kiss on the cheek, causing a very mild blush that could almost be seen had there been more light. Tifa stood up and headed for the door.

"I'll be in my room," she turned to him. "Just call me when you can explain the files, alright?"

Rude turned to look at her. "Y-yeah…I'll do that."

* * *

"Sit down."

She didn't even have a chance to physically sit, because Damian had already done it for her after gripping her arm tightly and lightly tossing her into one of the chairs in the kitchen. He pulled up a chair and sat across from her at the table, setting his silenced handgun down, but keeping it pointed at her. Damian reached into his shirt to pull out a pack of cigarettes. After holding the cigarette with his lips, he put the pack away and searched through his pockets again.

When a noticeable five seconds passed, Karen Wolfe rested her head on her hand and watched him as he fidgeted through his suit to find a proper light. A part of him was still Damian, yet a part of him was no longer. Does he truly remember her, though? The look that he gave her when she faced him back downstairs was strange. There was a sense of recognition on his face.

"I don't mean to trouble you," Damian spoke in a deep voice. "But do you happen to have a light?"

The hopeless stare in her face could be seen as she fixed her blonde hair so she could see him. "Lost yours?"

"I'm afraid so," he replied. His voice was very harsh and punishing to listen to, as if death itself were talking to her. Some humanity could still be traced behind the voice, however.

Wolfe gave him the same smile that she would give him after he kissed her back when they were still together, in the earlier days of VICE. It was definitely strange to be in a room with him, and him having little clue of his relationship with these people he has been killing.

"No, sorry, I don't," she said, looking away with a bitter face and playing with the fabric of her skirt.

Damian put away the unlit cigarette and stared at her for a few moments, analyzing her breathing pattern and facial expressions.

"You look nervous," he told her.

"What do you want?" she asked him.

Damian's stare remained constant. "You know what I want."

"Kill me, then," she then said. "You've finally found me, haven't you?"

He let out a slight laugh, enough to catch her hear. "If I wanted to _only_ kill you, I would've done so as you walked out to your car in the parking structure this morning, and would've been gone when your body hit the concrete."

"What else do you want, then?" she asked.

"You created a copy of confidential information," Damian said. "Where is it?"

"Scott has it," Karen told him. "But I have no idea where he is."

He nodded with some understanding, but gave a light face of mistrust accompanied by a slight smirk. "Are you sure?"

"Of course," she said nervously.

"I wouldn't say that," Damian asserted, keeping his cool while she looked at him with utter tremor.

The petrified stare lingered as she gazed straight into his eyes. "W-why not?"

"Because Scott's fucking dead," he stated darkly, sending a chill crawling up her entire spine. Along with his mention, he reached into his jacket and grabbed a small, familiar flash drive, tossing it to her to signify his death. "So it's just you now."

She didn't want to mention Rude, because she had given him a copy of the material. It was probably the copy Damian was searching for.

"Where's the copy, Ms. Wolfe?" the assassin asked politely.

"It's Karen," she told him, saddened that he would use 'Ms. Wolfe' rather than her first name. "You used to call me that."

"Oh," Damian remarked. "Where's the copy, _Karen_?"

Since she was sobering up from her slight intoxication, her emotions began to return to its original state. Her eyes began to water as she looked around the room, attempting to avert her gaze from Damian's. As her sight returned to meet Damian's eyes, she somewhat smiled.

"You don't remember a thing about me, do you?" she asked. "Not even a moment that we spent together?"

"This is irrelevant, Karen."

"If you're going to kill me anyway, I must know," she told him. "You can't recall anything between us? Nothing about VICE? Victor told me about your confrontation with him."

Damian smirked. "Did he tell you about the hospital, too?"

She nodded.

"I couldn't recall Rude at the hospital," he said. "I had to do some research to barely remember who he was. Either way, he bears no meaning to my mission, and I don't mind killing him to get the job done. He's just another idiot who's trying to change something he doesn't understand."

"So you don't recognize me at all?" she asked.

He shook his head. "No."

Wolfe smiled. "I think you do."

"What makes you say that?" Damian said.

"You're exceptional at lying, dear, but I could always tell when you lied," she told him.

"Do you think I _care_?"

His tone in that remark was very hurtful, but she swallowed it.

"Yes," she nodded. "Because I could still see the acknowledgment in your eyes when you look at me, as if you've seen me before. It's the same look that you would always give me at times, and I could stare at you forever."

Damian's focus faltered as his sight fell down to the table, trying not to look at hers. "Well, we broke up a long time ago."

"Did you recall that by yourself or did they tell you that in the briefing folder?" she asked. When he didn't respond, she gave a satisfied smile. "I thought so."

"Where are you going with this?" he asked, looking back up at her.

"I just want to look at you," she said. "Can you remember anything about VICE?"

"Vaguely."

"How can you go everyday knowing that you won't clearly remember a damn significant thing after it has happened?" she asked.

He looked down again, taking a breath and contemplating for the next few moments. "Memories only hurt. They never heal."

"Then what heals?"

Damian didn't answer.

She smiled. "New memories, right?"

"Or the lack thereof," he added.

"Wow," she noted sarcastically. "So you really _are_ no one, and you're fine with that?"

"It doesn't matter what I'm fine with," Damian said. "That's not important."

"You're pathetic," she then said with a sickened face. "You really aren't the Damian I knew. The Damian I knew died after VICE was split. You? You're just a shadow of a man who was once the best, who didn't care for rules or values. You did your job."

Damian smiled. "I still do. You're just angry because I've forgotten about you, and maybe after I'm done with this mission, I probably won't remember anything about it."

Wolfe crossed her arms and looked away from him.

"Where's that copy, Karen?" he asked. "Just tell me where Victor is and I might forget about the promise I made to him about killing him. And perhaps his friend, the girl."

"Victor?" she asked. "What do you mean?"

"You said you had a confrontation with him," Damian noted.

Wolfe mentally slapped herself for saying such things. Of all things she could have discussed, she accidentally brought up Rude.

"I don't know," she said.

"That answer won't work, Karen. Raven already tried it," he said.

She had to figure some way to stall Damian, and hopefully get Rude to safety. Wolfe looked away and frowned.

* * *

"Alright, I've got it," Rude said, looking like he just had a revelation.

Tifa sat on the bed, facing him as he turned his chair away from the computer. She patted her thighs in readiness. "So?"

He took a breath and removed his sunglasses. "Where do I start?"

"Tell me more about the EV Project," she said.

"Okay," Rude nodded. "So, the EV Project, like Jacobson explained, was a presumed failed project that was executed in response to Shinra's SOLDIER program. It ended roughly, say, 10-12 years ago due to failure. Spanning over the course of 15 years from that time, the government's best scientists pursued more natural means of soldier development rather than—"

"Mako," she interrupted.

"Thank you for the interruption," Rude muttered. "May I continue? Or do _you_ want to explain what the EV Project is?"

She smiled at his quick remark. "Sorry."

"I had asked Jacobson what the source of enhancement was," Rude told her. "But he didn't know."

"What did they use?" Tifa asked.

"Nothing unnatural was inserted into their bodies," Rude said. "The test subjects had their natural strengths fiercely stimulated through several trials. Whether it was exercise or shock therapy, the government was going to squeeze everything they could out of human beings. The thing was, 'human potential' was a very difficult and vague subject as it is now. Shinra hadn't even tapped into the surface of natural potential yet, and instead resorted to Mako to enhance SOLDIERs. However, the government managed to seize the very fine tip of human potential and strengthen their soldiers that way."

"And that's it?" she said. "How would people die from that? You said all trials failed."

Rude shook his head. "It was more than that. The most demanding part of the EV Project was the mental conditioning. All of the test subjects were put through intense psychotherapy—not the type that you'd imagine, though. This part of the course was too demanding, leading to most of the subjects turning insane and killing themselves or defying authority and getting killed as a result."

"So that was the end of it, huh?" she asked. "The government is killing off VICE members because they know about a bunch of failed experiments?"

"Nope," Rude said. "The government is killing off VICE members because the EV Project didn't fail."

"But you said it was a failure!"

"Well, apparently, it wasn't," he countered. "The government managed to produce one hell of a soldier who was both able and cunning. They would use him for several operations, and even gave him a chance at civic duty."

"Wait…civic duty?" she asked. "You're not saying…"

Rude nodded. "Damian is the successor of the EV Project."

Tifa's face overcame with surprise. "Wha…?"

"I should've seen it awhile ago," Rude said. "The dots connect. You see, EV stands for Expletus Venator. Expletus Venator is Latin for 'Perfect Hunter' or 'Complete Hunter.' Damian's last name is Hunter."

Running a hand through her hair, Tifa was still surprised, confused, and curious at the same time. "What did they do to him? The psychotherapy, I mean."

"It says in the files that the psychotherapy is a sort of imperfect 'rebirthing' technique," Rude explained. "After a significant amount of events happen, say, a chain of interconnected operations, they would administer a mild form of amnesia on Damian, rendering his mind clear. Not only that, but his mind is already conditioned to repress certain thoughts, and only keep relevant ones. So, basically, his mind is perfect for them in every way, since he doesn't have any memories to drag him down. They can just assign him a mission and that would be it. He would come back, and they would administer the mild amnesia again, and he won't remember a thing."

"Why is it mild, though?" Tifa asked. "Well, you _did_ say that it was an imperfect 'rebirthing' technique."

"They didn't want to damage his brain completely," Rude said. "He was already very able and smart, so they took caution with it. Apparently, it has worked well so far, though he could still indistinctly recall things—meaning, he has been known to recognize people he's forgotten about. Still, a side effect of this is a hazy memory. It's not a perfect system, but Damian's been running just fine. If he's got no clear memories, he has no emotions attached to them."

"Why does he remember your name, though?" Tifa asked.

Rude shrugged. "It was either part of the briefing, or he got some information. I doubt that he re-learned my name at the briefing, because I don't think I was supposed to be a part of his mission. He barely recognized me at the hospital. When I called his name, he just gave me this strange look."

"Sad…" she said. "Tell me about his current mission."

"That's not on the file, sadly," Rude said. "But Damian has had several missions before VICE. I won't attempt to list them. That should tell you how much he has done."

"What was VICE for, then?"

"VICE, not only being a joint program to connect Shinra and the government, was a civil enforcement program to improve Damian's natural instincts. It would improve his sociability, his street smarts, and even develop some of his personality. In a way, it was the part of his career that gave him a life," Rude said. "It was also the longest period of time that Damian was allowed to think and build memories."

She nodded. "I see. So why did VICE end so abruptly?"

"Well, the government and Shinra decided to end their ties because of Shinra's own survivability rating. The government concluded that they didn't need to babysit Shinra's streets with VICE anymore, so they closed the ties," Rude said. "More importantly, though, was Damian's condition. Damian was improving, because his knowledge was sharpened and his experience was overwhelmingly developed. However, the tradeoff was his humanity. VICE was the longest period of time that he had gone without the amnesia or repression, so he built several memories, and eventually, an identity.

"Damian's memories, however, ended up becoming a snag, because his habits allowed himself to perform with varying degrees of effort. For example, he would only perform at his best when bigger operations came to work. But, he knew how to distinguish work from leisure, friends and coworkers, and several other things I don't need to get into."

She shrugged. "Well, that sounds normal to _me_."

"Not normal for Damian, though," Rude said. "The cutoff point was Aerith. Damian's relationship with Aerith proved that the normal world was an unsuitable place for a man like him, because having a relationship meant that he had something else to be loyal to other than the job. They ended Damian's relationship before it could spread further. Recent examinations confirm that his mind is still suffering from past experiences, meaning that another snag has come up. He's got certain dilemmas from the past that he hasn't sorted out yet, but he barely remembers them."

"What does that mean?" she asked.

"My guess is that they'll use Damian up until he's too mentally worn down to go any further," Rude said. "Then God knows what."

Tifa looked down with some gloominess. "Aerith…"

* * *

The young Rude paced around the VICE headquarters nervously, seemingly waiting for something. It had already been a day, and neither Damian nor the boss was in sight. The boss, however, had an excuse for absence. The government had called him up to a board meeting in Central City; Damian, however, had no explanation for absence. Nonetheless, the lack of communication was causing quite a stir.

"Nothing yet?" Raven's voice came from behind Rude.

"Nope."

Raven raised an eyebrow at Rude after eyeing the young man's attire. "What's up with the jacket, tie, and slacks? You're not an agent just yet."

Rude gave Raven a glare, but otherwise ignored the rest of his comment. At least people were noticing his change in attire.

"Listen," Raven told him. "When this is all over…when VICE is over, don't look me up, alright?"

The recruit gave him a suspicious look. "Why would I look you up?"

"Don't tell anyone else," he started, "but I've got something big planned for myself. I'm going to be in this government program much later on, and we'll be doing some military development. Believe me, man, I'll be getting all of the military secrets, and I will expand on them like there's no tomorrow."

Rude gave him a bewildered stare. "Never knew that you were the government type."

"The next few years, man…I'll no longer have anything to do with Shinra," Raven said. "I want to do this, but if I do, I'm sure everyone in this unit will probably think of me as some sort of schemer or something, like I had something to do with VICE's disbanding. What are you going to do?"

He shrugged. "Don't know. I want to convince Damian to join the Turks with me, but I don't think he'll roll with it."

"You never know until you ask."

"By the way," Rude said while sitting on top of his desk, "what was up with the suspicions on Damian?"

Scott shook his head. "Don't worry about that. I can get paranoid, that's all."

"Oh yeah?" he acknowledged. "What are you going to do while in the government?"

"I want to run an elite unit," Raven told him. "Maybe something like VICE."

"Whatever suits you," Rude replied.

The elevator doors opened up and a young woman walked inside, shy and hoping that she wasn't lost as she eyed the busy VICE floor. Rude turned to face Aerith waiting at the elevator door and departed from Raven, heading over to her.

"Hey, it's you," Rude said. "Aerith. You looking for Damian?"

She gave him a weak smile. "No. I just came by to drop something off."

Searching through her purse, she pulled out an expensive, silver lighter, and handed it to Rude. It was an attractive lighter, bearing several tribal patterns. He didn't know that Damian had such a lighter. Usually, he only carried the very cheap ones because he didn't want to spend any extra money. _A light is a light_, as he usually said.

"It's just a present," she said. "Damian kept complaining how he didn't have a light, so I figured I'll just get him one."

Rude held the lighter in his hands, but gave her a strange look. "You won't give it to him yourself?"

Her eyes began to water, but she fought the tears and bit her lip. "Tell him that even if I can't understand him, I can accept him, and maybe even love him."

His eyes looked at her with some confusion, but as her tears began coming back, he understood what had happened. "I'll talk to him. He doesn't know what he's doing."

"I have to go," she said, choking back a sob. "Make sure he doesn't lose that light."

Aerith stepped out back into the elevator while wiping her eyes away, leaving Rude to deliver the message. He looked down at the lighter and sighed. Damian was not here, and he broke up with Aerith, but why so unexpectedly? None of it was making sense to Rude. When another ten minutes of inner struggling passed, he looked at his watch and headed to the elevator. He had to find Damian.

* * *

From the door to the side, Rude suddenly heard something crashing to the floor in the hallway. It sounded like a body, judging from the loud _thump_.

Tifa observed him in his state of thought. "What is it?"

"Shh," Rude shushed.

Footsteps from the hallway could be heard as they drew closer, echoing up and down.

"Turn off the lights," he told her quietly.

With mild fear, Tifa nodded and walked over to the light switch, flipping all of them off and returning to Rude. The lights from the hallway were visible under the door. The footsteps edged nearer to the room, close enough to see the shadows crowding the light. Rude's eyes widened as he grabbed his gun and hid against the wall to the side of the door, while Tifa hid next to the closet just ahead where the wall took a turn, waiting for the intruder to come in. The shadows still crowded the door, and as Rude watched the lights underneath, he waited for an entry.

Then the lights in the hallway turned off. Everything was dark, and the foot shadows disappeared. His eyes widened, no longer knowing when the intruder would come into the door. Was it Damian? Who was it? While his breathing steadily quickened, Rude stood still, ready for anything that was on the other side.

_Any moment now…_

**Oops, sorry to leave you guys hanging there. You're just going to have to wait until I post the next chapter, which will be relatively soon. If you've any questions, go ahead and ask. Stay tuned, guys, and I'll upload the next chapter as soon as I'm done.**


	16. Endless Perdition

**Here's chapter 16, which will insert a minor problem into the plot. It's not as long as the other chapters, but it's decent in length. There's more Damian-Karen interaction, too, so I hope you enjoy that. Anyway, it's a pretty solid in-between chapter that sets us up for the upcoming chapters. Enjoy, guys.**

**Chapter 16: Endless Perdition**

"Reno," Cloud said over the phone. "Tifa hasn't called yet. I'm wondering if you've seen her."

"Sorry, Spike," Reno replied, sounding somewhat surprised that Cloud would directly contact him. "But I haven't seen her around, yo. Come to think of it, Rude's been gone, too. What happened between you guys?"

"We…had a fight," Cloud said. "She walked out. Then when I walked outside, I noticed a car speeding down the road. There was some suppressed gunfire. A few of the cars on the street are hit with bullets."

"You don't think…"

The blonde man took a sigh. "It was probably that same guy from the hospital. You think he's got Tifa?"

"Don't know," Reno replied. "And if Rude is gone, too, then he's probably after them if the guy's got her."

"You try calling him yet?" Cloud asked.

"Nope. I figured he just needed some alone time. It has been a shitload of alone time…"

"Try calling him, and come over to my apartment. We're going after this guy if he's got Tifa," he said.

"Okay, Blondie."

"Don't call me Blondie."

"You like Spike better?"

"No."

"Then what the hell should I call you?"

"Just hurry up and get over here."

Reno grunted. "Fine. I'll call him."

* * *

_Any moment now…_

Ring-ring.

Rude's heart felt like it had disappeared into thin air. Ceasing his breath and movements, he stood against the wall and listened to the deathly ring of his cell phone on the table.

_Perfect damn timing._

Before he could think any more, two silenced shots hit the door's handle. Rude covered his face as a kick knocked the door open, sending splinters flying all over the entrance. A dark, shadowy figure walked into the room with a laser equipped, suppressed shotgun, eyeing the room ahead. Luckily, he did not see Rude and continued forward. As he barely stepped past the small entrance where the room expanded, Rude pointed his handgun to the back of the man's head.

"Freeze," Rude said.

The man ceased to move. As Rude stepped closer to the man, he felt a sensation of cold steel touching the back of his neck.

"Put the gun down," a feminine voice ordered.

_Shit._

Rude cursed himself for not waiting for others to enter the room. Before he could put his hands up, an upward kick from Tifa knocked the shotgun out of the man's hands, followed by another kick landing on his face. He flew back into Rude, but Rude managed to move fast enough to evade the falling man. The woman who held Rude at gunpoint was too distracted, and Rude easily snatched the gun out of her hand, pointing it closely to her face. Breathing heavily, she had her hands up and her face down. Both of them seemed to wear cheap ski masks.

"Tifa, turn the lights on," Rude said.

She went and turned on the lights. After closing the door shut, he looked at the masked woman and tossed a gun over to Tifa while he kept her at bay. Holding the gun at the fallen man, Tifa awaited Rude's orders.

Rude walked over to the woman and reached into her jacket, inspecting every part of her body for concealed weapons. Tifa rolled her eyes.

"To the end of the room," Rude ordered, throwing cuffs on her. "Now."

The woman hopped over the man as she walked past Tifa and stood at the end of the hotel room. Rude quickly cuffed the man and ordered him to the corner, as well. When they stood together against the drapes, he walked up to the both of them and removed their ski masks, tying both of them up to the heater/air conditioning. They were two young people, possibly just slightly older than Rude and Tifa themselves. The bald man pulled up his computer chair and sat in it.

"So," Rude said, feeling quite comfortable. "Who are you?"

"Doesn't matter," the man said, bearing quite a northern accent.

"If you value your lives, you will tell me who you are," Rude said.

Tifa, still holding the gun up at the two, gave Rude a surprised look, noting his powerful, commanding, frightening tone. She looked at the two people, though, and waited for the next few moments.

"We're 'ere to retrieve the copy o' those files. On that flash drive," the man answered. "An' we were supposed to kill ya'."

"You did an awfully exceptional job," Rude spoke sarcastically. "Except you failed. Who sent you?"

The man did not answer.

Abruptly, Rude fired a silenced shot at the man's arm, causing him to collapse from the pain as he let out a loud grunt. Tifa cringed from the sight, and noticed the sudden change in Rude's demeanor. It must have been what Damian was like. The tone was like how she remembered Damian's too, back at the hospital.

The woman let out a whimper and looked up at Rude. "We were sent by the government, okay?! Please…stop."

"That wasn't hard," Rude retorted. "And how did you know I had a copy?"

"It was part of our briefing," the woman answered.

He nodded. "Was Raven and Wolfe part of your briefing?"

"Raven an' Wolfe?!" the man said. "Raven's the bastard who sent us after this shit!"

Rude's eyebrow twitched upon hearing the name. "And what about Damian?"

The male assassin's eyes widened, along with the woman's. "Holy shit…Damian is after it, too?"

"No," Rude said. "Damian was sent by the government to go after every VICE member. He's going after Raven and Wolfe, now…"

"But that makes no sense," the woman said to him. "Because Raven is the one who sent _us_…and we're all from the government, too."

A moment of silence was spent in the room as Rude thought the situation through. It was all too confusing for him.

Rude sighed and looked at Tifa. "You alright?"

She hesitantly met eyes with him. "Y-yeah."

"Go get dressed and turn the hallway lights on," he told her. "We're leaving."

Dropping the gun, she immediately walked out of the room and stepped out into the dark hallway, heading back into hers. Rude still kept an eye on the both of them, not knowing what to think next.

"If Raven is government," Rude started, "and he sent you two, then why is Damian—who is killing off VICE members—going after Raven?"

"He was probably sent by Raven, too," the woman suggested. She turned away and shook her head. "I don't think he'll kill him…"

"So Raven is killing off his own former VICE members," Rude hypothesized. "That doesn't make a lot of sense."

Ring-ring. Ring-ring.

Rude's cell phone was going off in the middle of the room; the same phone that alarmed the two assassins in the first place. Quickly, Rude reached for his phone and looked at the caller ID.

He flipped the phone open and held it up to his ear. "Reno."

* * *

"Can I accept myself?" he asked. "Sure, why not?"

"We all need mirrors to remind ourselves of who we are," Karen said. "The problem with you is that you don't know who you are."

He shot her a grin. "I'm Damian Hunter, freelance operative, former VICE member and the product of the EV Project. My father was from Wutai and my mother was from Central City. I volunteered for the EV Project when I was 16 years old. From there, I was conditioned at a government facility for an additional four and a half years. At age 20, I was placed as an agent in the government system. At age 22, I joined VICE and became its best agent. At age 25, I left VICE, and was replaced into the government system for another eight years, seven months, two weeks, twenty hours and tonight."

Karen smiled at his recital of his own personal timeline, somewhat amused at his effort. "That's good. That's a good one. But it's quite moot since you can't truly remember anything, huh?"

"As long as I can remember the big picture, it's not worth struggling over small details," Damian asserted.

"What does it feel like, though?" she asked. "Waking up and not clearly remembering anything the day or week before?"

"It's like waking up from a dream," Damian told her. "So you wake up in a hotel room, okay? You're just…there. You don't know how long you've been there because you've been in too many damn hotel rooms to count. You could've been there last night…or maybe a week. It's like your home. Like a lobby. And each contract is like a dream. You enter the dream, complete the contract, then you exit. You're back in the real world, awakened, with vague memories of what had just happened, but you still know that you've just done something…vital."

She stared deep into his eyes. He wasn't as forceful as before, and didn't mind talking to her; such a strange man. "Interesting…"

"You lose track of time, though," Damian said. "You're like a rock on the side of a moving river, knowing you can't join the system any more."

"And you're okay with that?" she asked.

"Like I said," he told her, "it doesn't matter what I'm okay with, because it wouldn't change a thing. Taking control of your entire environment is only something naïve people believe. You can control yourself, sure, but ultimately, you can't change what controls you. If I'm not doing what I do, then I guarantee you someone else would be here in my place."

"And just like that, it gives you a reason to stay passive?"

He leaned forward across the table. "It. Doesn't. Matter."

"Sure it does," she said. "It says on your file that you've got a few mental issues."

"It's nothing major."

"It can get major," Karen assured. "Damian, the only question is: can you save your own mind before you lose it?"

"I wouldn't know. What if I'm there already?"

She smiled again, leaning forward. "Give me a cigarette."

"You got a light?"

Karen reached into her purse and pulled out a small, silver lighter with several engraved patterns on it. She gave him a sultry look. "You got a cig?"

"Wow," Damian noted. "I'm sexually aroused, Karen."

He returned his smile and reached into his jacket, pulling out the cigarette pack and reaching for two cigarettes. He handed one to her and put one in his mouth. She lit both of the cigarettes and they both took a long, comforting drag.

"You're in a place of endless perdition," she told him, exhaling a breath of smoke. "Forever lost in your own mind."

"How tragically poetic," he muttered sarcastically. He took a drag and blew the smoke out from his nostrils, allowing it to rise slowly into the air. "You know, I've noticed something about much of your people."

"_My_ people? Who are my people?"

"People you are associated with. These so-called…do-gooders."

"Oh yeah? What have you noticed?"

"You are the weak," Damian said. "You are the ones who come forward because you're afraid of what you are. You can't accept yourselves, so you do good things for other people because it makes you feel good. You don't want to hurt other people because you don't want to hurt them, you don't want to hurt other people because you don't want to hurt _yourselves_. You're afraid; afraid of the 'ever-changing' world. The world doesn't ever truly _change_. The danger is the same as it was, just in different forms. It's foolish, you know. People who think they can beat the world."

She gave him a grave look and her stare drew away into a state of hopelessness.

"At the end of the day, everything's the same as it was," Damian said to her. "You can't talk yourself out of death, Karen. You are the weak, and I am the world. The world doesn't wait on you. That's narcissism."

The phone rang. Karen's insides turned cold.

Damian, without taking his eyes off the disheartened Karen, reached for the phone and brought it to his ears. "Hello?"

"Karen? Is she there?" Rude's voice asked.

"I don't know," Damian answered. "She's been in and out for the past half hour."

Rude's heart sank, assuming the worst that could happen in that situation. "…who is this?"

"You know who this is," Damian said. "I think you have something that I want."

"You don't know where I am," Rude told him.

"Sure I do. You're on your way over here right now because those two idiots couldn't kill you," Damian said.

Rude's heart raced. "So you know about them."

"Yes, I know about them," Damian said. "It's such a shame, you know. I'm going to have to pay Scott a visit soon."

"Why?"

"Because when you choose a service, you choose one service only. Two hammers can't hit the same nail."

"So he _did_ hire you. Is Karen dead?"

Damian looked at her and a subtle smile appeared on his face, one of satisfaction. "Not in the sense that you mean, yet."

"Look, I have the copy. If you want it, then you're going to have to come get it. Leave Karen out of this," Rude said.

He stood up and walked around the table to the teary-eyed blonde woman. Damian lowered his face to meet hers, giving her a twisted compassionate look, almost signifying a sense of insanity. "Listen, Rude. You better be heading over to Scott's soon if you want to put up a better futile effort."

Damian set the phone down and brought his hand to caress Karen's cheek. He pulled her close and locked his lips with hers, not hesitating for one moment. The tears ran down her face as she returned his kiss, and after one long, passionate moment, Damian turned away.

"Why?"

He grabbed the suppressed handgun. "Because now you're down to _one_."

Tightening the trigger, Damian dropped the phone and held up the pistol and fired off two shots to Karen's chest, immediately ending her life in that instant. The least she deserved was a quick death after arguing with Damian. He put the pistol back into its holster at the waist and watched her dead, lifeless body for one moment. The soft glow from the lights in the room reflected off her skin, and she looked truly gorgeous, like an angel. Damian stared at her, watching the blood flow from her sternum as her closed eyes signified her death. It looked peaceful. Something within him caused a sense of sorrow, but he couldn't tell what it was. Their relationship must have been an intense one, he thought to himself. Damian picked up his half-cigarette and finished it before exiting the hotel room with a blank look on his face.

* * *

Rude's grip on the steering wheel was met with his increasing speed as he stepped down on the pedal. Tifa, who was browsing the files on his laptop, looked over to him as his anxiety took over, pushing him well off the edge. It wasn't everyday that one would see Rude so stressed out. On the way over, she had been looking at Damian's relationship with Aerith, and everything in between. She saw pictures, heard conversations, and even noticed the difference in Damian's tone. When Damian spoke with Aerith, he was wondrous in a way; as if he spoke to someone he had been waiting to speak to for a very long time. She inspected everything, from their first kiss to Aerith's last gift, which was a silver lighter.

Tifa turned to face him.

"What's wrong?" she said, shutting the laptop and tightening her seatbelt.

"Karen's dead," Rude said. "Damian…he found her somehow. He found her…"

The car stopped at The Hotel Thade, and Rude stepped out of the parking lot and into the hotel. Tifa followed him as they quickly entered the lobby and into the elevator. Rude pressed the correct floor and stood in the room, tapping his foot out of adrenaline and anxiety.

"Calm down," she told him.

"Calm?" Rude's shaky, but composed, dark voice spoke. "No, I can't be calm. Someone just died, Tifa. Someone I could have protected."

Another ten long seconds passed before the door _dinged_ and opened up. Rude drew his pistol and scanned the hallway before heading to Wolfe's room. When he reached her room, he stood back, ready to kick open the door, but Tifa stopped him. The door wasn't locked or closed. She pushed open the door and went inside. Rude looked down and noticed the cigarette butt in the entrance. Someone had just exited.

Bending down to inspect the cigarette butt, he took a long sigh to calm down his body. Tifa continued into the hotel room.

_Damn, too late. _ He thought. _About fifteen minutes._

He heard some stumbling near the kitchen area and walked over. When he approached the entrance to the kitchen, he saw Wolfe's dead body still sitting in the chair, her face looking pale. Tifa covered her mouth and fell into Rude's embrace. Unknowingly, Rude wrapped his arm around her and watched Wolfe's peaceful sleep. It was like Huxley's apartment all over again.

"Where's her cell phone?" Rude asked. "I need to call Raven."

Tifa edged away from him, but kept her head down. "I'll look for it."

Rude walked over to the main room area while Tifa stayed in the kitchen, searching for the cell phone. She noticed Wolfe's purse on the ground next to her and walked over to it. Searching through the purse, she found the cell phone. However, upon looking for it, Tifa managed to stumble upon a silver lighter. Staring at it, she knew that it bore a great importance. Remembering the files that she had just browsed, Tifa realized that the lighter was Damian's; the same one that Aerith had given to him. She thought for a moment, recalling the files that she had browsed on the way over. One of Damian's mental snags was constant dreaming; specifically a recurring one involving a woman in a field of flowers, whom she assumed was Aerith.

"Find anything?" Rude asked after a few minutes.

Tifa handed the cell phone to him and stood up. "Yeah."

Rude held the cell phone for a minute, but instead of searching for Raven in the 'contacts' section, he walked over to the couch and sat down instead. How could he have let it come to this? Did he even want to speak to Raven anymore?

He thought about Tifa, who curiously walked over and sat next to him. She didn't deserve to go through this, especially against someone like Damian. He couldn't believe this whole chain of events started with just walking into her bar one day. If he was going to confront both Scott Raven and Damian Hunter, he'd have to do it alone. He wasn't going to risk anyone else's life in the process.

"Are you going to call him?" she said.

Rude looked at her and took off his sunglasses. "I'm going to drop you off at the hotel, alright? You're going to wait there for Reno and Cloud. They called me."

"They did?" she asked. "Why are you dropping me off? Where are you going?"

"You can't face Damian with me, Tifa," Rude said. "I can't have your life in my hands."

She frowned. "But that's not fair. You'll die."

"I'll end it," he assured. "I can guarantee you that if you guarantee me that you'll wait for Reno and Cloud."

"Why are you doing this…?" she asked.

"I need some closure," Rude told her. "This was none of my business, but I made it my own. I never understood why, but I do now. I wanted some closure with Damian. I wanted to prove to myself that I was as good, if not, better than him."

"You sound like Cloud," she muttered, looking away.

Rude stood up. "He misses you. That's why he's coming. Please, let's go back to the hotel. I'll drop you off there."

"Why can't I come with you?"

"Because it's my problem," Rude said.

"That's not a good reason," said Tifa. "Friends help solve each others problems."

He put his sunglasses back on. "I've never been the type to have many friends. And I always solve my own problems."

She stood up, frustrated at him. "No. That's stupid."

Rude raised an eyebrow.

"I can't stand it anymore," she said. "I don't get why everyone does this to me."

"Does what?"

"…_this_!" she emphasized, but had no tangible example.

"Look, Tifa," he said. "You could die, you understand that? Get over yourself and do something beneficial for a change. I don't need your blood on my hands."

Turning away, she let out a grunt of frustration, especially angry at his choice of words. "Ugh! Fine!"

Giving him one good look before heading out the door, she had trouble understanding the man behind the glasses. There was something going on within him, but she could never tell what, and she didn't know if she'd ever find out. Tifa walked out the door, and Rude followed her.

* * *

Young Victor had searched everywhere, but couldn't find Damian. Through every bit of the slums, through every bit of the VICE division, he was nowhere to be seen. Kicking an old, empty soda can off the streets, Rude let out a grunt of frustration, nearly admitting himself to a lethargic state after all of the failed searches. He shut his eyes and took a moment to breathe. When the realization came upon him, he opened them. He was alone, and it was reaching towards the evening.

Ring-ring.

His phone went off and he reached into his jacket for it. It was Damian's caller ID, and from that, he was overwhelmed with relief. Almost happily, he flipped open the phone and held it to his ear.

"Where have you been?" Rude asked, skipping the greeting.

"Meet me at the Holland Diner in 30 minutes," Damian's voice said. "We need to talk."

Before Rude could say another word, the long, monotonic sound of an empty phone line annoyingly presented itself to him. He sighed with some irritation and shut the phone, glancing at his watch. Rude returned to the taxi that was waiting for him. He directed the taxi driver to the Holland Diner, and sat quietly along the way, watching the passing vehicles, people, and shabby houses. What was there to find? He thought deeply about the reason of this chain of events. What was waiting for him at the end?

His phone rang again. Without looking at the caller ID, Rude answered.

"Hello?"

"It's Cissnei," a familiar voice said.

"Oh, hey," Rude greeted. "What's going on?"

"Have you seen Damian around?" she asked.

With suspicion, Rude managed to answer, "No, why?"

"Well, it's hard to believe, but…it seems that he had just murdered a few crime lords in the slums," she informed. "They were high-profile assassinations."

"What the…" Rude confusedly remarked. "It's not like him to do that."

"Anyway, if you see him, tell him to file a report as to why he had done so."

"You won't arrest him?" he asked.

"We're Turks, not Security," she said. "And Damian is too valuable to be plainly arrested."

Rude nodded. "Alright, fine. I'm headed to the Holland Diner in the Sector 6 slums right now. I'm going to speak with him."

"The Holland Diner? For dinner or something?"

"That's what I'm guessing," he told her.

"Rude…just be careful, okay?"

"I don't need to be reminded of that."

Rude closed the phone and his vision panned towards the window again.

**Alright, so that's the end of that. Any questions you have, don't be afraid to ask. I'm working on the next chapter right now, so I'll have that up as soon as it's ready. Please review, guys!**


	17. Here's to You

**Alright, guys. This chapter progresses the main story just a bit, but the huge focus here is "theme." I took extra care of the dialogue in this one, hopefully making the latter good enough for minor dissection. It's somewhat of a sweet-to-bitter chapter in my opinion, but still decent, nonetheless. Read it and enjoy.**

**Chapter 17: Here's to You**

Tifa stood outside the hotel as Rude dropped her off, crossing her arms to give her warmth against the near ocean breeze. "Victor…"

"I never really liked that name," he said, talking to her from his vehicle while the window was rolled down. "I thought it was a horrible name."

She smiled subtly, but kept her worries about him. "Will you be careful?"

"I don't need to be reminded of that," he told her. "But I'll be as careful as I'll ever be. Don't worry about me."

Before he stepped on the gas to leave, she stopped him. "Hey."

He took a breath and looked up at her again. The look on her face changed from an expression of worry to an expression of gratitude.

"I'm glad you walked into my bar," she said.

Rude's lips twitched to a small smirk before driving off into the night, headed towards the original known destination of Scott Raven: The Mobil District. He reached for Karen's phone and pulled up the list of names, searching for Raven's. Highlighting Raven's name, Rude pressed the "call" button and awaited an answer.

The ring went on for a whole five seconds.

Five seconds turned to ten.

When it seemed as though no one would answer, Rude attempted to shut the phone, but the ringing tone stopped.

"The owner of this cell phone is dead," a voice spoke. "Speak up, whoever you may be."

"Where are you, Raven?" Rude asked.

"Who is this?"

"Tell me why you hired Damian," he said, not too thrilled to hear Raven's voice.

"Victor…"

"Tell me why. Wolfe is dead."

Raven sighed. "It wasn't supposed to be this way."

"Well, it is, and you're going to have to tell me what happened."

"I had hired Damian to retrieve the copy," Raven said. "Karen ran off with it, and I needed it."

"And?"

"Don't know. He started killing off every VICE member that I told him to speak to," Raven said. "I think he's gone insane. I even gave him a copy of the files."

"What about Karen? She never suspected you."

"I know," he said. "She believed that Damian was out to kill the both of us."

"How do I know if you're lying or not?" Rude asked.

"I've got nothing to back it up."

"Where are you?"

"You don't need to find me."

Rude scoffed. "Fine. Damian's coming to get you."

"What…?"

"You heard what I said. Are you at the Mobil District?"

Raven sighed. "Yeah, I'm at the Mobil District, at this rundown warehouse on 81st Street. It's surrounded by flowers."

"Shouldn't be too hard to find," the bald man commented. "We need to talk when I get there. You're going to explain everything to me. Then I'll decide on whether to arrest you or not."

"Gotcha," Raven noted.

Rude shut the phone and let out a sharp sigh, glancing at the rearview mirror as he hit the freeway, exiting from the coastal area. He still had some suspicion in Raven, and kept an open alertness to himself, hoping to get some clarity amidst this mess.

* * *

"Where the _hell_ have you been?" Victor's voice loudly projected.

People in the diner quickly shot a stare over to their table, followed by Damian's own threatening glare as a response, immediately prompting everyone to return to their own business. Sinking his fork neatly into the cut-up steak, he brought the medium rare piece of meat to his lips, opening his mouth and chewing on the juicy piece of beef. Damian held his knife and cut up the steak into small bits before eating them again. Reaching over to the small glass of red wine, he brought it to his nose and lightly spun the glass to bring in the smell. Rude sat there and watched as Damian comfortably ate his dinner.

"You sure you're not hungry?" Damian asked in a casual tone.

"Look, I heard what happened with Aerith," he told him. "Why did you do it?"

Damian sipped on some of his wine. Twirling the glass again, he looked out the window and squinted in thought. "Don't know. It's something I really don't want you to know about. Frankly, you'd think differently of me if I told you."

"You're gay?"

Damian's squint widened as his view came back down to look at Rude. "No, idiot."

"Then what is it?"

His commanding officer's strange behavior was only exacerbating his frustration, edging Rude closer to peak anxiety.

"Garçon!" Damian called.

A waitress came along and greeted Damian with a smile. She had her hair tied back, but also had a very shapely figure, enough to attract Damian's eyes.

"Excusé moi," he said with a smile. "Mademoiselle. Pas garçon, oui?"

Rude looked at Damian strangely, unable to receive the agent's easygoing attitude. Even the use of a different language threw him off guard.

She gave Damian a captivated expression. "What is it, sir?"

"Could I trouble you for some coffee, love?" he asked. "I've got a long night ahead."

The waitress smiled. "Anything for you, darling."

As she walked away, Damian returned to eating his food. "You were saying?"

"What the hell is going on, Damian?" Rude asked.

"What the hell is going on?" Damian asked. "Is that what you're asking me?"

"Yeah."

Munching thoughtfully on a piece of steak, Damian sighed and a grin stretched across his face. "We're fucked, that's what's going on."

"Why'd you break up with Aerith?"

"You already asked me that."

"Yeah, I know. You didn't answer."

"It wouldn't work out," he simply answered.

Rude raised an eyebrow, hoping to hear an extended explanation. "It wouldn't work out?"

"That's what I said," Damian told him. "What, should I repeat every damn word I say or something?"

"I expected something more."

The agent let out a noticeable chuckle. "Doesn't everybody?"

The recruit bit his lip and looked up to the television, where a program on the Wutai War was playing. He sighed and stared downward as the waitress came along and poured Damian some coffee.

"For both good and bad men," Damian said, "all there will be is disappointment in the end. People shouldn't worry about the struggle between good and evil."

"What are you talking about?"

Rude looked up at Damian, and noticed that he was watching the television. Damian was speaking about the Wutai War.

"They should worry about the events afterwards," Damian told him, still keeping his eyes on the television. "After a war, what do you got? Fucking reparations and cleaning up dead carcasses in the warzones. All we ever do is tear ourselves apart, anyway."

"What's your point?"

"No one is ever satisfied about themselves," he said, digressing into a more lethargic and unmotivated state. "People always feel like they have something to prove even after the thrill is long gone. They just feel like they got to go beyond their own limits to make themselves feel better. Why, because of principles? If your principles allow you to make stupid decisions, then they aren't principles."

He looked out the window. "I don't understand."

"I know," Damian said, sipping on the coffee. "Who knows _when_ you'll understand? Who the hell knows? It could hit you in ten years. Hell, it could it you in ten minutes."

"Is it ever over then? Can one ever…stop?"

"Nothing ever stops," Damian assured. "You can't just turn it off, unless something pushes you far enough."

"Is that why people are unsatisfied?" Rude asked. "They want to _know_?"

He smiled. "Perhaps, yes. Perhaps they want to know just where they stand. They want to know if the world is still there."

"A fine excuse for stupidity, no?"

Damian scowled awkwardly and looked away from the television, drinking more of the coffee. "Stupidity isn't an excuse for stupidity."

"When you're crazy enough, it sure looks otherwise."

"Or if you're delusional," he added.

When the thought hit him, Rude sat up quickly and reached into his pocket, somewhat startling Damian at the same time. Pulling out the silver lighter, he slid it across the table. The agent grabbed it and took a good look at it.

"From Aerith," Rude muttered. "She dropped it off earlier today."

"I don't need a light."

"I don't recall you ever having one. Plus, it's a gift. Quit being such a dick and just accept it."

"A memento," Damian reluctantly whispered to himself.

"What?"

"Nothing."

"You know, Aerith said that even if she didn't understand you, she could accept you and love you," Rude said. "She was crying, Damian."

Victor saw the recognition in Damian's eyes, and the slight spark of sorrow behind them. The agent didn't answer, and instead kept silent for another few moments.

"Will you join the Turks with me after this is over?"

"It's already over," he sighed, putting the lighter into his jacket pocket. "Plus, you don't need me anymore."

"Come on, Damian," Rude insisted. "Where else do you have to go?"

"I don't think I'll be seeing you anymore after this," his superior said. "Don't ask why. It's just a personal hunch."

"Cissnei told me that you killed some, uh…mob figures. Is this true?"

"It was one last termination protocol," Damian informed. "Now there's no return."

He gave Damian a mournful look. "Where are you going to go?"

"Don't know. It won't be here," Damian said.

Victor let out a regretful sigh. "You should've stuck with Aerith. Tseng was really depending on you. How long can you go with her on your conscience?"

"Believe me," Damian said, shooting a glance over to him. "I'll get over it."

"I doubt it."

"You're a good man, Rude," his officer suddenly said. "You've still got some ways to go, but you're good. You've got the best of me in you."

Rude held back a laugh. "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah."

"What parts of you do you see in me, then?"

"My last shred of decency," Damian stated. "My little sense of justice. One real attitude. Quick wit. And, believe it or not, you speak a lot like I do."

"Gee, is that something to admire?" Rude asked, joking.

Damian lightly smirked, signifying that he had much more unsettling things on his mind. "I admire you, Rude. Really, I do. But, I'm still me. If I could start all over, I don't think I can change anything about me. I'd find a way to keep myself."

"Are you so sure about that?"

"No," he said. "But my mind wonders."

"What's on your mind?"

Damian seemed like he was on the verge of an answer, but looked away, towards the waitress. "Miss!"

Immediately, she came over with a grin on her face. "Yes? How may I serve you?"

"Champagne," Damian requested. "Please."

Within only a few minutes, the champagne was delivered, along with two glasses. Rude looked at them with a sense of oddness, knowing that he had never had a drink before. Popping the cork from the bottle, Damian lightly decanted the champagne into each glass, handing a drink over to his young colleague.

"You would've made one hell of an Agent, Victor. Sorry that time ran out," Damian said. "But it was one hell of a ride."

Rude halfway smirked. "Yeah, it was."

He held up his glass. "Here's to you."

* * *

Tifa sat on the bench nearby, crossing both of her arms for warmth. She was alone now, forced to sit and watch vehicles pass by. Interestingly enough, it was a sight to behold, this world. It was just that she never took the time to stop, breathe, and watch others live their lives. Everyone had somewhere to go, whether it was home or work. Sadly, no one would ever stop to think, but about what?

It was like waiting again. That's all she ever did, and she hated it. All she could ever find herself doing was waiting; waiting for Cloud; waiting for something to come along and rescue her from herself. And now, even Rude had pushed her away. She knew it was none of her business, but she wanted to help. What kind of world would this be if friends weren't allowed to help one another? She mused for another few minutes.

Tifa thought of the files about Damian. His story was something that she had trouble understanding; that she had trouble seeing. However, she surprisingly found herself sympathizing with him, especially all he's been through. And he didn't even know it. It, too, was a mystery to her, why she sympathized with a killer like him.

She stopped herself for one moment. Why was she always caring for people? What have they done for _her_?

Immediately, she remembered Rude's words, back when they had drinks at Seventh Heaven. He had told her that she was motherly, friendly, and caring. Motherly. Tifa almost smiled at that term, because it was a term that she would have used to describe Aerith. Then she reached to caress the back of her neck, remembering the butterfly and flower tattoo that was put there to remind her of such a person. It was a reminder; a reminder to take care of her friends.

Tifa smiled at her rediscovery. She couldn't change that aspect of herself. It was too valuable to give up.

Just as she looked back up, she noticed a man in a suit walking out of the hotel. It was Damian. He must have been in their hotel rooms awhile earlier. Luckily, he didn't notice her on the way out, because she was not in the line of sight. As he walked down the steps and into the parking lot, she followed.

Waiting until his car left and stopped at the nearby lights, she quickly called a taxi. It just-so-happened that there was a taxi waiting nearby, much to her surprise. Entering the taxi, she handed the driver a load of cash.

"Follow that car," she said. "I don't care how far it goes. Follow it. Keep your distance."

"Finally, an interesting fare," the driver muttered.

As Damian hit the highway, so did the taxi. Tifa pulled out her cell phone, preparing a text message for Reno in case they arrived at the hotel. Texting a quick message for them, she hastily sent the message and shut the phone, impatiently watching Damian's vehicle.

"Don't lose him."

The feminine driver looked at the rearview mirror. "Don't need to tell me that, miss."

They went along the highway and kept the distance between Damian. With interest, the driver glanced at the rearview mirror again and smiled.

"So are you, like, chasing your boyfriend or something?" she asked. "Is he cheating on you?"

Tifa met her glance in the mirror and let out a chuckle. "No. I'm, uh…"

"If you don't want to explain, then you don't have to. I don't like to be nosy, but I don't usually get the order to chase someone."

From her silhouette, she seemed very young, likely just about Tifa's age or a bit older. The woman's voice seemed so familiar, so comforting and inviting that she could almost imagine the face behind it.

"I'm helping out a friend," Tifa said.

"Really? Are you tracking _her_ boyfriend or something?" she asked jokingly.

"Uh, no. It's a guy friend that I'm helping."

_Crap._

"Oh, a guy friend, huh? So you're tracking _his_…" the driver remarked, but halted. "Either way, that's sweet."

Tifa nervously laughed. "Sorry, I didn't mean it like that. It's—"

"Complicated. I know. Don't explain."

Another few minutes passed before Tifa noticed something about the vehicle's paint and structure.

"This isn't a typical taxi," she noted.

The driver smiled. "I know. It's a special taxi."

"Who funds it?" she asked. "Government?"

"Nope," the driver replied. "It's a special service, funded by someone who has money."

"Really? Who?"

She lightly chuckled. "You wouldn't believe me."

"Who?"

"Rufus Shinra," she said.

Tifa almost turned her ear towards the driver, hoping to get a clearer word. "Rufus? Shinra?"

"Mmhmm."

With curiosity, she peeked over the seat, but noticed no identification on the driver. "You don't have a name tag."

"Oh, uh…"

"What's your name?"

She hesitated. "Well, you see…"

"What's your name?" Tifa insisted.

"Uh…"

"Well?"

"They issued me EVA 209," she hastily answered. "But just call me Eva…I don't have a last name…"

She raised an eyebrow at the driver's response. "EVA 209? Where did you get that, an assembly line?"

The driver let out an anxious groan. "Never mind! Forget I said anything! Just let me drive."

_What a weirdo._

A dense amount of curiosity expanded within her as she tried to make sense of what the driver had just informed her. What was Rufus doing with this taxi company? And why would he issue his drivers numbers?

A smile appeared on her face, and Tifa drew close to the driver. "Anyway, it's nice to meet you, Eva. My name's Tifa. Tifa Lockhart."

"It's nice to meet you Tifa," Eva said.

A strange accentuation at the end of her sentence caught Tifa's ear.

"Hmm? Something wrong?"

"No," the driver told her. "It's just that...I think I've heard that name before."

Her phone began to ring and she held it in her hand. Looking at the caller ID, she noticed that it was Reno, probably calling on behalf of her message.

"Hello?" she answered.

"Teef, where are you?" Reno asked.

"Why?"

"Because we can't let you go alone," he said. "Don't forget, I need some action too. It's not fair if it's just you and Rude."

Tifa let out a smile. "Hold on a sec."

She lowered the phone from her ear to speak to the driver.  
"What's the license plate of this car?"

The driver swallowed nervously. "License plate? Uh…EVA 209."

_What the…_

Raising an eyebrow, Tifa brought the phone back to her ear. "The license plate of this car is EVA 209. See if you can track it."

"EVA 209?" Reno asked. "What the hell? That's a Shinra-issued vehicle."

"Yeah, I know. I happened to hop into one of his taxis. I didn't know he ran a transport service."

"Is the driver some young lady?"

"Uh…yeah…"

"Oh shit," Reno replied. "Oh shit…oh shit."

Tifa rolled her eyes. "Did you have to say that three times?"

"Oh fuck."

"Nice, now we have some variety," she remarked sarcastically.

A crackle at the end of the line signified a sigh. "Why the hell didn't he tell me…?"

"What is this about?"

"Nothing! We'll follow you," Reno said. "By the way, Spike—I mean, Cloud, says hi."

There was a pause as Tifa thought about her blond-haired friend for a moment, suddenly remembering him after a seemingly long time. Actually, it had only been a few hours since she last thought of Cloud, but it felt like days.

"Thank you," she weakly replied. "I'll see you at the destination."

She shut the phone and sighed, still wrapped around who the driver was. The driver kept her eyesight along the road, but Tifa could feel her anxiety concerning who she was.

"So, your name is your license plate number?" Tifa asked. "That's weird, but then again, Rufus is one with surprises."

"Who was that you spoke to?"

"A former Turk."

The driver gulped. "A…Turk, huh?"

"Yep," she replied.

Eyeing the dashboard for a second, she noticed several small souvenirs placed neatly in a line, along with some hanging on the rearview mirror. Most of them were small flowers, though a few of them were strange, such as the small SOLDIER 1st Class figure standing on the dashboard, along with the strange-looking silver piece, though it was indistinguishable since the time was far past midnight.

"What's up with the flowers?"

"They're just…mementos," she answered. "In a way, it's a brain exercise. Each one has a memory attached to it."

"Oh. What's that silver thing?"

"That?" the driver pointed. "That's a lighter."

"You smoke?"

She giggled and shook her head. "No. I don't know why it's there, but it has some importance to me."

Tifa, in a state of thought, gave a nod. "Ah. I see…"

"Look, if I'm creeping you out, then just say so," the driver replied. "I won't be offended."

"No, I've just got something on my mind," she said.

"So, your friend that you're helping out…" the drivers started. "It's really nice that you're helping him."

"I'm giving gratuitous help," Tifa replied with a somewhat sarcastic tone. "Because he won't let me help him."

Smiling, the driver kept her eyes on the road, changing lanes and maintaining speed. "That's sweet."

"Actually, I'm doing this more for myself," she said almost quietly. "You see…a lot of my friends…they keep me waiting. They…well…they push me away."

"So why are you helping them, then?"

"It's also me. I'm getting over myself. I don't care if they push me away or not, they're still my friends. Someone I once knew would've given help to a complete stranger. I can never forget her," Tifa explained. After this, she let out a laugh and shut her eyes, shaking her head. "Listen to me. I'm nagging. Sorry."

The driver shook her head. "No, don't apologize. I think that's a great thing. It's kind of how I think, too. Amidst everything that goes on, you can't overlook who you are. When you can accept yourself, then you can move on."

Her mind munched on those words for a few minutes as she let out a "huh" in acknowledgement. Sitting back into her seat, Tifa's mind lingered on the driver, wondering who she was, and why Rufus was running a personal transport service. Strangely, her mind deviated from the situation with Damian, but she kept her alertness sufficient. Tifa looked out the window as they crossed over a bridge, back into the metropolitan areas of Edge. It was only a matter of time before she caught up with Rude, and since Damian was heading there, too, then it could only mean a confrontation.

* * *

Rude peeked at his watch and let out a yawn. "Damian, it's getting late. Drop me off at my apartment, will you? Tomorrow, we can figure out what to do."

"Just a few minutes, Rude," Damian said, sipping on the champagne.

The next few minutes were quiet, spent with exchanged glances and hopeless musings, mainly from Rude. Mostly, it was Damian's behavior that was causing Rude to sulk into a frustrated attitude. How could Damian be acting the way he is during moments like these?

Next thing he knew, his eyes were shut. Drifting slowly to sleep, his head fell comfortably into the seat as he crossed his arms for warmth. His heartbeat recessed into a slower, resting phase, causing his breathing to become slower and relaxed.

Damian smiled and chewed on the last bits of his food. Amongst the people in the diner, he, Rude, and a frequent visiting old man were the only customers left.

"Miss," he called the waitress.

She put down some dishes and walked over to Damian, still managing to put on a smile despite the hard, long day she's had. "Yes?"

"I'd like my check, please," he said.

"And your friend? Are you going to wake him up?"

Damian stood up and put on his suit jacket. He stared down at the sleeping Rude, whose chest was rising and falling slowly.

"He's already awake," Damian stated. "Perhaps some other time I'll wake him again."

Confusedly, she nodded and walked back to the register, counting up Damian's bill for the night.

"What should I do with him?" she asked.

"Just let him sleep there," he replied. "Will you let him?"

She eventually nodded and returned to the register. "Sure, I guess. I'm up all night anyway."

When she looked back up, she saw him stumble to a nearby seat, using both hands to rub his temples. He nearly fell into the chairs, but kept a balance and sat up. Immediately, she hurried over to him.

"Sir! Are you alright?"

Damian, trying to resist the strange feeling in his head, managed to let out a nod or two.

"Should I call anyone? Or…"

"No, I'm fine," he said. "Just a bit of a headache. From work."

She nodded. "Would you like some water or something?"

"Please, just get me the check," he said.

"O-okay."

As she walked away, she managed to get a peek at what was in his hands. It was a pill bottle, definitely, because she could make out the orange tone with the white cap on the top, along with the typed labels pasted onto it. Was it for his head?

She was ready to bring the check over to him, but he stepped up and made his way over to her, ready to pay for his meal.

"That'll be 20 gil," she said.

"It was 50 last time."

"I know, but you're a frequent customer," she shyly replied.

He smiled. "I'll be leaving town, though. Discounts are a bit useless now, aren't they?"

"Oh…" the young waitress remarked, looking away sullenly. But, her expression reverted to a happier one. "At least I caught you before you left."

"Yeah. What are the chances of that?"

"Chances?" she asked. "The chances were good."

He chuckled and shook his head, taking out his wallet. "I don't know…you could've missed me. What if you forgot to give the discount? What if I never considered coming here tonight?"

"But that's just it, though," she said, accepting his money as he handed it to her. "Sometimes, it's never about the 'ifs' and the 'whys.' What happened just happened. And it must have happened for a reason. It's just what is."

"Oh yeah? And what is?"

"What is?" she asked, closing the drawer. She fixed her orange-red hair and gave him a grin. "You're a nice guy, that's what is. If that's what isn't, then I wouldn't have given you a discount, now would I?"

Damian returned her smile with an astonished look.

"Things like this don't purely come by chance. They're still based upon who you are and how the world acts with you. Action and reaction. I gave you a discount because you were a nice guy who frequently visited."

He raised an eyebrow to her. "You really think I'm a nice guy?"

"Yeah," she nodded. "But whenever you're here, you seem to act like you're no one, though. I rarely ever see you read the paper, and you always arrive at the same exact time for breakfast. What's up with that?"

"I don't really…care, I guess," he said. "None of it concerns me. You wouldn't understand."

"Nope, I probably wouldn't," she agreed. "But, I do understand this: everyone has a chance, whether they like it or not. One day, something spontaneous just might cause you to do things differently. You'll change. I'll bet that for sure."

"I wouldn't count on it," he said. "You just might lose."

"I'll take my chances."

"That's foolish."

"It sure is."

"And you're alright with that?"

She nodded. "Yep."

"The world might not be, though."

"I've got my place in the world, just like you do," she said, happy to respond to him. "All of the foolishness, the hope, the benevolence…I take it all. In the end, I just am."

Damian smiled. "You're welcome."

He turned around and headed for the exit, ready to push the door open and walk out into the cold once again. Before he left, though, he stopped in his tracks, causing the waitress to withhold counting the day's earnings. She slowly looked up at him, still having her mind on their recent exchange of words. There he was, still wondering if all life was insignificant as he figured it out to be; still wondering why she accepted herself as herself, and why he was who he was. He questioned himself, though his own sense of inconsequentiality brought his mind to confusion. For what reason must he live differently than she did?

He turned around and gave her one more stare.

"If you just _are_," he started, "…then what am I?"

She softly smiled, especially upon looking at the suppressed emotion in his face. It felt as though she had hit a nerve.

"Nothing different."

With a faltering vision, Damian looked down and turned away, heading out the door and into the cold of the night. Stepping over to his car, which was parked next to the sidewalk, he opened the door and sat himself inside, taking a few minutes to breathe and contemplate. Damian glanced up at the rearview mirror and reached out to fix it, but not without using it to look at himself.

_We all need mirrors to remind ourselves of who we are. _ As Karen said to him the other day.

Perhaps she was right.

_Do I really have to leave Aerith? _ He thought to himself. _Must it remain this way?_

The strange feeling in his head came upon him again, prompting him to massage his temples to alleviate the tingling sensation that overwhelmed him. The memory tablet was kicking in, as they said. Soon, it would be okay. Only a few minutes now.

_Can I ever change who I am? Who I'm going to be? You can't just turn it off. It doesn't work that way. I can't turn my back on everyone I know. I can't forget them; those who haven't failed my trust. I don't want to do this anymore. I don't care if someone else takes my place. I want something more._

The sensation intensified, and he no longer felt the need to rub his temples. Damian sighed and leaned back in his seat as his mind underwent the rewashing. It was an old, familiar feeling reintroducing itself to him.

_No. I can love her. I can love Aerith too, right? I just need to drive over to her and tell her I love her. I promised Tseng. They're all depending on me. It can change. Yeah, I can change. Hold on, Aerith. I'm coming. Everything will be fine soon._

As the process slowly subsided, Damian's dilated eyes returned to their normal state as he gripped the top of the steering wheel, inserting the keys into the engine. He looked up and saw the road ahead, noticing the lack of other vehicles. There was no one who was traveling the same road. The sensation was becoming easier, and his mind returned to focus.

_Yeah. I'm alright. I'll be okay. I'll be okay._

And just like that, it was gone. Was the world still there?

_Everything is alright. Just breathe. Nothing is wrong with you. You're okay._

Damian twisted the keys and the engine started up.

_It's fine now. I'm just fine. There's nothing wrong._

He turned the car into the empty street and headed past the light when it signaled to go. The streets were quiet tonight. There were no children out, no friendly faces, nothing. It was barren and empty, and he was the only one out while everyone resided in their homes, living comfortably with loved ones, taking life as it came. The vagabond hunter looked at the rearview mirror and fixed it, glancing with unfamiliar indifference at all that was behind him. Then he turned away and looked at the endless road ahead.

_Alright…what's next?_

**And that's where I'll end it. Personally, I think I've really outdid Damian's character in this chapter, and I hope you guys feel the same way. Any remarks, suggestions, or questions you may have, please ask or review. Plus, I can always use the inspiration. Until next time, my (faithful) readers.**


	18. In Limbo

**Well, it's been quite some time since I've updated, hasn't it? Sorry for the wait, but I've had some classes lately, and it's been really time consuming. However, I managed to finish this chapter, which is almost entirely Raven and Rude. There will be a few new things to think about here, though they're not entirely high priority just yet. Anyway, enjoy, guys.**

**Chapter 18: In Limbo**

The Mobil District seemed like an avenue for departed souls, based on the damp, grimy alleyways, the broken, dull concrete, and the roaring subway system that snaked through it like a carotid artery. Short, shabby apartment buildings defined the architecture here, built from old, murky, maroon-red bricks and concrete. But Rude knew that this place more than merely housed the damned. It sheltered some of the worst crime lords that unfortunately survived the fall of Midgar, along with a wealth of rapists, junkies, murderers, and drug dealers leeching away on the already dismal economy.

Ignoring the vacant, dead, and even imposing stares, Rude looked at the street names, hoping to find 81st Street soon. He saw no reason in this part of the city, no humanity, nor love. It was bleak. From a distance, the traveling railway above sounded like the mourning of unsatisfied spirits; spirits that were neither alive nor dead. The shadow that the upheld transit system cast brought the land darkness, even while it was raining as it was now.

Though he hadn't slept, he was still completely awake, both anticipating his meeting with Raven and remaining alert in case something unexpected should happen. Taking a right on the next street, he traveled along the road under the railway and looked at the sidewalks, noting the lack of life in the people that sat around on their apartment steps, smoking cigarettes and watching trespassers with a signal of warning in their eyes. He didn't want to know what was happening in the apartment rooms.

When he turned one more corner, he came upon a surprising field of flowers, all white and blooming, even providing light in this dark sector. He slowed the car down and parked into the small dirt driveway that led to the medium-sized warehouse. Before heading out to meet Raven, Rude reached into his glove compartment and grabbed his handgun, checking the rounds and loading a bullet into the chamber. Then, he slipped it into his chest holster and concealed it with his jacket, opening the door and stepping out of the car.

The warehouse was exactly as he imagined it: vile, rusty, damp, and dark, with the heavy smell of dirt mixed in with water from the light drizzle outside. Rude peeked around a bit. No one. He edged around the stack of cardboard boxes and noticed a shadowy figure in the near distance, dressed in a black trench coat. The figure turned around to face him.

"Victor. There you are."  
Rude, with the utmost suspicion, walked forward towards the dim light and met the man in the trench coat.

"Well, you've grown, haven't you? You're not as thin as you used to be."

"Explain yourself," Rude threateningly demanded with chilling tranquility. "Now."

Raven, with his face still hidden by shadows, walked over and flipped a switch above a nearby desk. A few lights in the grand room turned on, giving just enough visibility for Rude to distinguish his former VICE comrade. He was looking older, with a thin chinstrap beard complemented by a mustache. The definitive, perfect jet-black hair was greased back as it usually was.

Taking a breath for a moment, he reached into the trench coat and grabbed some cigarettes, taking one out and hastily lighting it. After calming himself with a drag of nicotine, he exhaled the smoke through his nostrils and nodded.

"What do you want to know?"

"What the hell is going on here?" Rude asked. "Especially the fiasco with Wolfe. Why were you trying to obtain the flash drive from her?"

Scott smiled and raised an eyebrow. "Well, I guess you deserve an explanation after all of this."

"Yes, I do. Damian will be here soon. You best explain now."

"Well, I won't have much to worry about when Damian gets here," he said. "You see, I practically paid him to assassinate the rest of the VICE members."

A spark flickered in Rude's eyes, hidden by his sunglasses. "What?!"

"Yeah," Raven chuckled. "I had, uh, convinced Karen that we were going to make the EV news public. Hopefully, you've reviewed over what the EV Project was."

"Why?"

"You recall a conversation between us, Rude?" he asked. "About me being in the government?"

Rude only gave him an expression of acknowledgement. In truth, he was ready to grab for his gun at any moment.

"Well, I _am_ in the government, Rude," he said. "I am helming this new unit, you see. It's under the same branch that VICE was under, before the rest of the government commandeered it. To do it, I had to get rid of all the former VICE members, because, well, they're a thorn at my side. Especially since a few of them know how I work, such as Wolfe, Huxley, and even that old fool Jacobson."

"Jacobson? Him too?"

"Yeah, he was an undercover agent. The truth is, Rude, the answer has already been presented to you. You just had to find which parts were true, and which parts weren't. This new unit was something Huxley told you about, yes?" he asked, and saw Rude slightly nod. "Of course. He described it as a 'new VICE.' I harshly disagree. This unit will be the best unit ever known. It will spread like wildfire, and it already has."

"He also said that it was anti-government. You're in the government, aren't you?"  
Raven grinned. "So he spilled the beans for you, huh?"

"You're anti-government?"

"In a way," the black-haired man nodded. "Not in the rebellious sort of way, however. I'm making this dirty, honorary competition. My new unit, the Babylon Alliance Regime, is already the top mercenary company in the world."

"Babylon Alliance Regime?" Rude remarked. "I've heard it in a few places. It's that same one?"

"Yes, Rude, that same one," Raven replied. "To do this, I had to play a game with former VICE. In order to round up the most dedicated members, I staged a plan for exploitation. What more fitting than the EV Project? Who more fitting than the best damn operative to walk the earth? It was such an easy deal, too, since Damian can't remember shit, and he himself was a part of an agency that uses freelance operatives. He's basically an expendable tool, much like you were.

"So, I got several members, all becoming dead within the year, limiting the numbers down to two: Huxley and Wolfe. Huxley, being the loudmouth, cowardly bastard that he is, had to go first. I told him vague parts of my plan, gave him an untrue story, and wrapped it all up to make it seem like some rebellion versus the government. On top of that, there was the lovely Karen, who was just so emotionally hurt when it was Damian coming after us," Raven explained. "It was fairly sad, too, since she'd cry at times about his true condition. Too bad she's dead now, huh?"

Rude scowled. "But you _are_ rebelling against the government, aren't you?"

"Of course not," Raven assured. "At least, not directly. See, Rude, this is the part that you won't understand, because you're just too damn idiotic to figure this out. It's business. It's always been business. You want to know why I've acquired Damian's EV information? Because I know the doctor who worked on it. I am going to amass an army, and lead the world into true protection," he said. "I am going to create the best private military company the world has ever seen. With the EV trials, it will far surpass Shinra's futile attempt at harnessing mako. After all, he was sucking life away from the earth. This earth is our battleground. I'll control the people _on_ it."

"So you crossed Wolfe and then the government," Rude stated. "You bastard."

"Like I said," Raven sighed, pacing slowly back and forth. "It's just business. I've got nothing against the government besides business. By the end of the fiscal year, they'll be dependent on me. All I needed was the EV Project information from the government. I convinced them that I was going to lead their new branch by swindling the VICE members and getting rid of them. It would be good in covering me up. They agreed, those fools. And now I've got the EV information, no VICE on my back, and full control of the Babylon Alliance Regime. We are the BAR, and we'll set a new military standard that exceeds the pitiful SOLDIER unit."

"Damian is still coming," Rude said. "He will come for your life."

"You forget. His contract ended when he killed Wolfe. Now his last task is to deliver the information to me. And I assume that you have a copy."

Rude stood there, but didn't answer.

"Ah, yes you do."

"But why would you use a project that has failed?"

"Damian is the reason why it was a success," Raven said. "And since it's a success, I can make it a larger success. The doctor will help us, of course. I've always had a keen eye on Damian back in our day. I always knew something was strange about him. That is, until after VICE, I found out about this Expletus Venator Project. I knew right off the bat that it would create the finest soldiers; soldiers that are efficient, but are obedient at the same time. Operatives who have no emotional attachment whatsoever to their experiences. With this, I can control the warzone."

Rude shook his head. "With that, you'll put the world into chaos. We already have enough conflicts…"

"And we are ready to solve them, of course," Raven smirked. "I will hold the guns of Gaia in my hands."

"But if you're in control," Rude started, "then you'd be out of business, since your only business is mercenary operations."

"Yes, I know," he said. "But there's always someone left to fight. And there are always instigations out there. Every aspect of human culture will respect war as a business. No one will argue. The economy works harder."  
"Chaos…"

"Control."

"No," Rude shook his head. "I can't accept this."

He smiled. "It's not a world for heroes and villains anymore, Rude. It never has been. Seldom does heroism pull through to the very end. AVALANCHE's rebellion is a prime example. But, that was just bad business on Shinra's part. The old fool never chose to pass on his empire. He had to wait until it was taken from him. He made mistakes."

"And you will, too," Rude said. "If you manage to pull through, you'll grow sick and corrupt, as well."

"Now…that is where you are entirely wrong," Raven retorted. "I can never turn corrupt. Business is always changing."

"What about Damian? What will you do with him?"

"Damian? By the time we rule, his agency will have been absorbed by our PMC already."

"PMC?"

"Private Military Contractor—or Company," he informed. "In this day and age, who has the strength to amass an army anymore? Wutai? They're still sore from getting their asses kicked several years back. You see, the world will need us in the future. Why build an army when you can buy one?"

Rude shook his head. "If there's one thing I know about Damian, it's that he's got a good sense of loyalty to his unit. He won't join you."

"You should be worried about yourself. Damian…he's the perfect hunter. No…he's a god slayer, a senseless mental freak who shoots angels off of God's shoulders. Gaia's people don't stand a chance when he's paid enough."  
"Well, you're quick to praise him," the bald man muttered. "Do you admire him? Or do you fear him?"

"It doesn't matter what I think of him," Scott said. "If I am war, then he is death. And he should be here shortly."

Rude silently sighed and looked downwards, wondering about the situation that he had just gotten himself into. What seemed like a small struggle between two old comrades quickly multiplied into an incipient large scale threat. Or could it be stopped?

"You see, there's nothing you can do about it," Raven said while spreading his arms, emphasizing the area. "We're here in the middle of nowhere. I suggest you hand me that flash drive, and leave, Rude. I'll give you that benefit."

He stood there, but didn't want to move.

"What are you going to do, Rude, huh? Arrest me? I'm still a government man. Last I checked, this world is still run by government. So, just give up the drive, and I'll let you go. I understand why you got yourself involved, but this is where it ends."

Raven held out a hand, awaiting for Rude to hand over the flash drive that Karen had given him.

"Listen, dipshit," Raven said, losing patience. "This isn't about good or bad anymore. It's about control. I'm already driving a machine that cannot stop. Now, you either stand aside or get crushed. It's one or the other."

"No," Rude said, sighing and shaking his head. "I won't arrest you."

Scott nodded and smiled. "Good. Smart choice. Now, the flash drive?"

The bald man waited the next few seconds, leaving the only sound in the room being the rainfall outside. Is this what it came down to? Scott was no immediate threat. He was, as he described, a businessman. Every intention he's had was for business, and Rude knew it. But, Rude also knew that this man had crossed the line when it came to business. It was no fair game.

Reluctantly, he reached into his jacket, but instead of touching the flash drive in the pocket, his gloved hand felt the hard metal gun. It was the only way; he knew it. Rude pulled the handgun from his chest holster and aimed it at Scott, managing to cause a flicker of surprise in the adversary's eyes.

"Now what the hell are you doing?"

"You know, I'm not a good man," Rude said with a deep, thoughtful voice. "I've always tried to be. I always strived to do the right thing, but things like this are what drive me to the fringe. It's always people like you. And I guess I understand now, Raven. If I can't change you, I can kill you."

"Why would you want to do that?"

Rude twitched just a bit to crack his neck. "Because you've already hurt people. And these people are people I care about. You know what? I'm sick of it. I'm sick of being careful and merciful. No length is too great when it comes to protecting my friends. I don't care anymore what they will think of me if I do this."

Raven smiled. "You're so immoral, Victor. I have no choice then. Alright. Shoot me."

Struck by surprise, Rude had trouble wondering what to do next. Was it that simple?

"Shoot me."

The words were repeated, yet Rude struggled to find a response.

Raven turned around with a laugh. "You can't do it. It only sounds so simple, Victor, knowingly crossing the line."

Rude let down his guard, and his vision dropped towards the ground. At this moment, Raven had gone back to the table and snatched the sawed-off shotgun resting on the chair. The former Turk sighed.

"Sometimes, you just have to be pushed."

The roar of the shotgun shells reverberated throughout the warehouse as Rude barely managed an escape, diving towards the nearby cargo bins. Since it was dark, he snatched his sunglasses and put them into his jacket. His stress level was skyrocketing as Raven's light footsteps echoed everywhere, crippling Rude's perception of where the enemy was. Rude gripped his handgun and stalked around the corner, wondering where Raven could be.

"I warned you, Rude," Raven's loud voice shouted. "The price is information is deadly."

Rude edged around the corner and peeked into the wider, open space. Raven was nowhere to be found. He stood watching for a few seconds, but just as he was ready to move again, he was tackled by someone from behind. From the impact, he knew that it was someone who dove from a higher point, probably from on top of the bins. A sharp sting in his back caused him to lose his gun and fall forward.

Elbowing the man, Rude quickly rolled away and stood up to meet eyes with Raven. Raven, getting up to one knee, gave a smirk to Rude as he stood up as well, putting his fists up, ready to fight. Immediately, the two engaged in quick, fierce exchanges of fists, throwing punches, grapples, and kicks at each other. Rude let out a loud grunt as Raven tossed him against the wall and threw a few knees at his abdomen. After feeling the crushing blow of the knees, Rude managed to bring a fist up and uppercut Raven. However, Raven came back with a headbutt and smashed Rude's forehead forcefully, causing him to fall back against the wall and tremble to his knees.

Raven threw off his trench coat, revealing his black tank top and several of his tattoos. Rude shook his head to clear his mind and stood back up to meet with his opponent. The adversary stepped back and cracked his knuckles, letting out a mocking chuckle as he prepared to face Rude once again.

Cracking his neck, Rude gripped his jacket and took it off, throwing aside. After that, he took off his tie and unbuttoned his dress shirt to reveal his white undershirt. Tossing all of his upper garments to the side, he stretched his shoulders and fixed his gloves. Rude took a breath and hopped on his feet lightly, preparing himself for the "second round."

Immediately, Raven lunged in for a quick attack, but Rude ducked and landed a hook to the ribs, nearly taking the air out of his opponent. The bald man didn't stop there. He took the opportunity and threw another punch to the exposed side ribs, nearly cracking them as drove through with complete strength. Raven let out a painful grunt, stunned for the moment. Rude followed with an uppercut straight up the jaw and landing one more fist to his face, sending him stumbling backwards.

Raven fell and sat up, taking a few breaths. Rude continued to hop, synchronized in his rhythm and fists.

Standing up, Raven put his hands back into a fighting position, but before he could react, Rude went in and landed a barrage of punches, giving him no chance to fight back. Rude wanted to end it, here and now.

As the fist slammed into Raven's jaw, Rude watched as his adversary spit out a good deal of blood and fall once again. Still hopping, the former Turk kept his muscular frame rigid, ready to engage his opponent when he stood up. But, Raven didn't stand up. He was down, coughing up blood, and weak. He was done.

Rude's hops slowly declined and stopped as he stood and watched the defeated enemy. "We can still do this peacefully. Are you done?"

Raven got onto his knees and began crawling towards the small table that he had retrieved his shotgun from. After awhile, he was too tired to crawl any further and turned on his back to stare up at the ceiling.

"I need some fucking aspirin," he said.

The bald man searched through his pockets and managed to pull out a small pack of two aspirin tablets. "Hmm. Guess you're lucky."

He threw the aspirin tablets to Raven and went over to find his clothes. He picked up his jacket and reached into the pocket, finding the flash drive. Placing the flash drive into his pant pocket, he carried the rest of his clothes over to the table, setting them down, but still keeping an eye on Raven.

"You know they won't let me go alive," Raven said. "Turning me in is practically sending me to my execution. You're best off killing me, brother."

Rude put on his sunglasses and took a deep breath. "Why would you do it? You knew it was coming down to this."

Raven continued to lie on his back after taking the two pills.

"It's my belief, I guess. In a way, I do believe that the EV Project was an atrocity. But once you've gotten to know the government, it's all just numbers and data. People aren't people anymore, Victor. They're just a piece of information. Even your boss, Shinra, knows this. I'm sure he's got a few secrets up his sleeve that you know about."

Looking up, Rude's mind focused on a certain term that his boss had been using recently.

_EVA 209._

"Sure," Rude said. "But you're taking it a bit too far, aren't you?"

"The EV Project is bigger than you think," Raven informed. "It was a test of absolute humanity. It wasn't about changing the looks of a person, or even changing how they perform. It wasn't some Jenova project that was used to create something new. It was a change in the _mind_. It was changing someone into becoming someone else."

"Damian's always been Damian to me."

"He's been everyone," Raven said. "I knew the doctor that studied human potential. She thought she was making breakthroughs. Yeah fucking right. At the time, I was only a lowly guard, so I wasn't too involved with the EV Project."

Rude pulled the chair out and sat in it. "You were there?"

"Yeah. I was there. I was still young. Damian was only 16 when they brought him in. I could still remember the look in his face. Innocence. Normality. He was a very normal child. In fact, he was quite charismatic when we spoke to each other."

"Well, that's kind of how I know Damian."

"And because I knew him," he added, "I applied for VICE when I heard that he was being placed there. When I saw him again, he was not Damian the Man anymore. He truly was Damian Hunter. The Hunter. A merciless, heartless killer who was once someone of worth."

"That explains a lot with our conversations…"

"He's only a shell now," Raven asserted. "Damian was truly genuine and smart. He was never too modest or never too confident. Man, he could've been someone great."  
"If he could've been someone great, then why the hell would he go for the EV trials?"

Raven bit his lip. "Uh, that's the thing. He never told me. All I saw was wasted potential. What could drive a person to do such a thing?"

"I thought you were all business."

"I lied," Raven groaned in some pain. "This isn't about some business. Like Wolfe said: the plan is to target a specific government branch. My target was the confidential branch that created the EV Project. As of now, they're still creating atrocities that are failing…"

"You were going to launch an attack?"

"No," Raven said. "I was going to dominate the military economy…enough to catch the attention of the branch after I claimed my interest in the EV trails. Then, I would dismantle them."

"Why not just apply for a spot in that branch?"

"They're not letting anyone else in."

"What about the other VICE members? What about Wolfe?"

"They were too disgruntled; too radical. They wanted absolute rebellion. I couldn't condone this. The government, as gray as it may be, is still stable, and a rebellion is not what the world needs right now, especially in this condition. That's why I had them killed, before they can spread the fire. I'm not proud of it. I'm really not."

"All this for Damian…?"

Scott groaned and sat up, peeking over his shoulder towards Rude. "No. For the doctor."

"The…doctor?"

"Yeah," he said. "I knew her. Personally. We haven't spoken in years, since our last progress report."

"What's her name?"

"Can't tell you. But she's Dr. Hunter."

"Is that where Damian got his last name?"

Raven nodded. "Yeah. No one knows his real last name."

Sighing, Rude looked down and away, somewhat guilty, because Raven even let him have a safe passage out, but he didn't take it. So much for heroism.

"She's out there, somewhere," Raven said, staring off into the distance. "Waiting for me; waiting until I settle this matter; until I rule the world and give it back to the people."

"Why?"

"We're all bound by our circumstances," Raven said. "But the world is too harsh. In turn, we must become the world in order to change it. We can't be an outside force. If the world is evil, then we must be evil. It's our very own myths that kill us in the end. What do I believe? I believe in people and atonement. Can we atone for what we've done, or allowed others to do?"

Rude stood up. "I never tried."

"Then you're the world."

"I take my chances."

Raven let out a chuckle. "Don't we all…"

"Why the antagonism?" Rude asked. "We didn't have to fight each other."

"Because my cause isn't noble," Raven replied. "I can't compromise. I couldn't. You were either with me or against me."

"Look," he said. "If you're going to go through with this…you've got to think this through…"

"Oh, and you've got ideas?"

"Yes, we can talk to Rufus and find an alternative means—"

"Did you just forget what I've told you?" Raven laughed again, standing up to face him. "I can't do this from the outside. This isn't about being noble. It's about my duty, and the doctor's. Our duty to destroy these…architects. Rude, you can't take me in. You have to kill me if you won't condone this. It's the only way I can be discharged."

Rude sighed and walked over to his gun, picking it up. Is this what heroism came down to? Obeying the law and your moral instincts? Words could change morals. Humans are infinitely malleable. For a moment, Rude silently scoffed to himself at the thought of his own self. Why was he trying to be someone he wasn't? He nodded to himself. The definition of heroism varied amongst the masses. What would others think of him?

Facing Raven, Rude buckled up his holster and held the gun in his hand.

Was it worth it?

Rude looked down. He was caught in limbo; a place in-between.

_No. No way in hell._

He put away the gun, returning to his senses.

"I've never been a hero, but I try," Rude said. "I want to make the world a better place. My only question: is the damage of this 'military economy' going to be greater than those inhuman experiments?"

Raven shook his head. "Wars are fought every day. The BAR is just a vessel."

"Whatever," Rude said, walking back towards the table, where his clothes were. "I didn't see you today. If Damian asks about me, call him off for me. I don't want anything to do with this. I'm through."

With a smile, Raven nodded. "I'll call him off. When this is over, I can answer any questions that you have."

"I don't have questions," Rude said, picking up his things.

"Sounds good. I—"

A gunshot echoed in the room, catching Rude completely off guard. He turned around, and saw a bleeding Raven cough up blood. When Raven turned around, two gunshots landed into his chest and one more into his head. The misty blood spouted into the air as he fell down with no second breath. Raven was dead.

Rude watched with wide eyes, already drawing his pistol to ready himself for the approaching assassin. Quickly, he dashed behind the few boxes and heard another gunshot hitting the wall behind him.

"The flash drive, Victor," Damian's voice spoke. "I need it."

Breathing heavily, Rude hid behind the boxes in fear.

"No?"

Rude didn't answer.

"I'll pick it up from your corpse."

**I'll leave you there. I honestly don't know when I can update again, but I assure you, there will be some good things next chapter. I'm expecting next chapter to be shorter purely because it will comprise of action sequences and only a few bits of dialogue. However, the length could extend if I added an additional scene into it, which I'm still thinking about at the moment. Either way, the story is coming to a close, and I'm hoping that you stick around for the finale. See you next time.**


	19. The Fringe

**Well, here's the next chapter. It all comes down to this. This is the showdown between our characters. I'm closing the second timeline on this one, too, so I hope you guys enjoy it. But, I truly hope that you guys get a kick out of this chapter, and hopefully review when you're finished, because I put a lot of thought (and action!) in this one. And what a fitting title! Heh. Enjoy, guys!**

**Chapter 19: The Fringe**

Rude's eyes opened and he stretched with a long, waking yawn. He looked at his surroundings, but was nearly blinded by the morning sunlight spilling through the blinds.

_Oh, shit._

What immediately caught his eye was the open newspaper in front of him, and the person sitting across. He looked across the table and sat there for the first few minutes, trying to sort his mind.

_Where's Damian?_

"Hey, you're awake," a feminine voice said, coming over to sit next to him.

Rude looked at Cissnei and raised an eyebrow. "What are you doing here?"

"Rude," the person behind the newspaper spoke. "We need to talk."

The newspaper dropped and the man behind it folded it up. Tseng grabbed his coffee and took a sip of it, setting it back down and looking up to the young man.

"Tseng," Rude acknowledged. "Where's Damian?"  
"He…" Tseng looked down and took a breath. "He's gone. His car was found at the bottom of the canal last night, and uh…he suffered from very severe burns. He didn't make it."

Rude's eyes were kept staring at Tseng as he digested the information. Slowly, his vision faltered and he stared down at the table, putting a hand up to cover his face. He couldn't bring himself to cry, because the news was so abrupt and unlikely that he was in fact plainly speechless.

"What happened…? Did he just drive into the canal?"

Tseng shook his head. "Damian's gasoline tank caught on fire, and from there, the car was just doomed. I'm…very sorry…"

Still shocked with disbelief, Rude sighed at sat back in his seat. Cissnei wrapped an arm around him and hugged him tight, resting her head on his shoulder as he continued to sit passively. Why? Why did Damian have to go? And why now? He did not find immediate sadness in his superior officer's death, but instead found the need to question. He just couldn't believe it, as if it were something that did not happen.

"How did it catch on fire?"

Tseng sighed. "Some of the investigators noticed a bullet mark in the gas panel. The bullet was actually quite large, considering the mark. It was definitely a sniper round."

"Who would want to kill Damian, though?"

Shrugging, Tseng tried to keep his words from being too straightforward. "If you really want my honest guess, I'd say it was the government."

"What…? Why?"

"Damian was too out of control," the dark-haired man said. "His superiors have spoken to our branch, and news had been flying back and forth about Damian."

Rude sat back in his chair and reflected on the important things that Damian had left behind, except that he could recall very few things. Damian, of course, was a fairly closed person.

"He broke up with Aerith," Rude said. "What'll you tell her?"

The man across shook his head. "If he's closed ties with her, then we'll just leave it at that. I guess it's my job to watch Aerith now."

Victor nodded and looked out the window. This was the same table that he and Damian sat at when he first joined VICE. It seemed such awhile ago, since so much has happened since then. He remembered that he was like a deer caught in the headlights when he approached Damian, who was the all-knowing, fast-lane VICE agent, constantly moving and thinking and doing. Now that Damian was no longer here, Rude questioned his own knowledge of the world, especially his knowledge of the world in Damian's perspective, which was bitter, true, and realistic. Rude accepted it, but he never truly wanted to believe it. Is the myth still true when Damian isn't here? Could he ever fool the world? Or would he fool himself?

"Miss," Rude called the waitress.

The waitress walked over with a smile. "There you are. You slept."

"Yeah, sorry about that," he said.

"Coffee?"

"Yes, please."

Tseng engaged Rude's behavior with strangeness, having no clue as to why Rude was acting the way he was.

She poured him come coffee and he took a sip. After she left, he cleared his throat and looked up at Tseng again.

"So," he said. "Did you ask the waitress?"

Tseng nodded. "Yeah. She said that Damian just left last night."

"That's it?"

"She said that he had some strange look on his face. A look of 'realization,' she put it."

Rude nodded and leaned his head next to Cissnei's. "Okay. When's the funeral?"

"That's the thing," Tseng said. "The government—whether they killed him or not—is covering this right now. I'm still wondering if there will be one. There has to be, and when there is, I'll let you know."

Nodding, he scooted away from Cissnei's hug and reached for some sugar and cream.

"He left something for you, though," Tseng said. "It was in your mailbox."

"Thanks for going through my mail without permission," Rude stated.

With a slight smirk, Tseng gave Rude a small box, wrapped in gift wrapping. Rude opened the gift and saw that the box was some sort of glasses case. Tseng also passed a card across the table to Rude. Opening the card, Rude read the words.

_Your taste in glasses sucks. I think these will do you just fine. Hopefully you'll never lose your sight with them._

_ - Damian_

Rude halfway smiled and opened the glasses case, noticing the small, but perfect-looking sunglasses that were there. He brought them up to his eyes and put them on.

"Let me see," Cissnei said.

He turned towards her.

"Hey, you're looking pretty hot."

Tseng smiled and looked outside. "So, Rude. Do you need some time with this…or…?"

Shaking his head, Rude put the glasses case into his pocket and held the card in one hand, sipping some more coffee with the other. "No."

"You're fine?"

Was Damian really gone? Or did he exist in Rude's mind now? He almost laughed to himself. Damian would never leave, and Rude knew it. The hunter is still out there, somewhere, but he knew that he'd probably never see the hunter ever again. Maybe in the next life.

"Yeah. I'm ready to start over."

With a look of surprise, Tseng nodded. "Okay, good. I've got a job proposal for you."

"Turk?"

"You don't know that. It could be a janitor."

"My résumé doesn't qualify for that."

"You mean a Turk?"

"No, a janitor."

"Ah, but you've got many desirable qualities for the line of work."

"Yes, I do."

"So, will you take the job?"

"Are we still talking about the janitor?"

Tseng shook his head. "No. A Turk. Full-on Turk."

Rude looked over to Cissnei and she returned a smile to him.

"Yeah, sure," Rude nodded. "I think I can serve Shinra pretty well now that this is over."

"Okay, very well," Tseng replied. "Your first order of business is to get the paperwork in to me by the end of the week. Then, you've got to go see your partner—"

"Woah, what? A partner?" Rude asked.

"Yeah. He's fairly fresh. I think you two could work well together."

Cissnei raised an eyebrow. "What? Why can't Rude just partner up with me?"

"I think you'd drag me down," Rude said under his breath.

"What?!"

"Hmm?"

"No, Rude, I heard that! Take it back!"

"Well, if you heard that, then why'd you say 'what'?"

"Quit being a smartass!"

Tseng sighed and shielded his face with a hand covering just above his eyebrows. "Quiet down, you two. Cissnei, you'll accompany Rude and Reno to many other missions. The Turks always work together. It's just that Rude needs to show this newer guy the ropes first."

"Reno?" Rude asked. "That's the guy's name?"

His superior-to-be nodded. "Yeah."

"Alright," the bald man said. "Sounds good. I'll get the paperwork in to you by tonight, and we can get started."

_Damian always had a friction between chance and inevitability. There were some things that would just happen, yet there were also things bound to happen. I'll never understand how he accepted the two hand-in-hand. But he's gone…_

The two shook hands and met eyes, though Rude's were hidden behind sunglasses.

_Can I see the world differently now? Can I see it as I used to, or can I change things to see them as I see fit?_

"Welcome to the Turks," Tseng said.

Rude, the Turk, looked at the sunrise, the beginning of something new entirely, with Damian in the back of his mind.

_Yeah, sure. The world isn't as bad as Damian puts it. Nothing can ever be inevitable. We can change things. There's always some light out there. Yeah. I can beat the world, right? Will it make me more content to think so? Yes, I think it will._

Glancing at his watch, the bald man gestured for Cissnei to scoot out of her seat so he can get out.

"Sorry, but I've got to get home and take a shower," Rude said. "Then I'll fill out the paperwork and get that to you."

"Need a ride?" Cissnei asked.

After a moment of thought, Rude nodded. "Sure, why not?"

_Alright…what's next?_

* * *

Damian was at every corner, and was hunting for him. Rude hid along the boxes and snuck through the low passageway that would give him a better advantage against Damian's intimidation method of wasting a few bullets.

"I do this for a living," he said loudly, reloading a magazine. "Don't think for a moment that you can go somewhere I can't find you."

Rude placed his things to the side and crept along the storage bins, hoping that he wasn't making any noise to be heard. Running his hand along the metal storage bin, he peeked around each corner and noticed that the storage bin area wasn't large. Along with that, Damian was making his way through the area, so he would have to find a way to ambush him. Rude couldn't run out into the open, either, since the most of the light was focused on that area. Making his way through boxes, bins, and forklifts, he made sure to watch his back every now and then to see if Damian was near.

Leaning against one of the bins, he waited to hear his opponent's footsteps, listening as they edged nearer by the second.

"Rude!" a feminine voice shouted.

He looked around to where the voice came from, and saw Tifa standing at the open door nearby. Immediately, he spotted Damian hopping over a few boxes and heading across the warehouse towards the door, aiming his handgun straight for Tifa. If there was going to be any chance, it would be now.

Dashing after Damian, Rude threw one arm around his neck and with the other, he locked the main arm holding the gun, pulling the arm back. A few rounds were wasted, but Rude managed to get the assassin to drop his gun and throw him on the ground. Damian got up to his knees, but was met with a fist to the face as Rude threw his powerful right hook to knock him on his back. Rude circled around him, and waited for Damian to stand. When Damian stood, the two assumed their respective fighting positions and awaited each other's movements. Completely in synch, Rude managed to read Damian's moves and land a combination of quick, stinging punches, knocking some air out of his opponent.

Damian went for a clutch, but Rude managed to catch him first, and began throwing knees into his chest. Taking a few knees to the upper body, Damian let out grunts of pain and had little openings to exit Rude's grip. Rude lightened the clutch around Damian's neck and lifted his enemy's head up a few inches to see his face. Cocking back a fist, Rude struck Damian in the face once, then followed with quick, painful boxing combinations. Finally, he ended with an uppercut to send Damian to the ground once again. Perhaps the fight could be won.

Rude rushed to engage Damian while he was downed, but Damian quickly sprang to a low position and tackled him in the torso, lifting him off the ground by grabbing his legs and pushing forward. Sitting on top of Rude when he was downed, Damian began throwing punches of his own, his hard knuckles knocking Rude in the face with unforgiving force. Rude also returned some punches, but his adversary snatched his arm and fell over to the side, bringing his legs up to lock Rude's arm in place in an impressive and surprising armbar lock. Stuck in Damian's submission hold, Rude could only feel pain as his elbow was being dangerously extended. The agonizing pain extended for a very long ten seconds, until Rude felt that his elbow joint was about to snap.

He was free, however, when Tifa came over and landed a kick to Damian on the side of his head. Rude rolled over and grunted in pain as he quickly massaged his paining elbow for the moment, watching the black-haired woman engage Damian with full force. Rude, however, was incapacitated as his arm felt like it was nearly broken, and he spent his time inspecting it while Tifa and Damian fought.

When Damian stood up again, she gave him a forceful sidekick that sent him flying back a few more feet. Getting back on his feet, Damian reached around his back and pulled a combat knife from his sheath tied to his belt. He flipped it a few times in his hands to get a feel for its weight, then closed distance between him and Tifa. She knew that she'd have to watch out for it, since she hasn't seen him use a blade before. Tifa quickly fixed her gloves and hopped into a fighting stance, giving him a ready smile.

The thrusts and slices came fast, but she managed to keep a good distance, though she could never find an opening in Damian's form. She threw a roundhouse kick, but she so easily telegraphed it that he caught her leg and brought the blade around to cut her Achilles tendon. Noticing this, she brought her other leg up and landed a kick to his cheek, barely causing him to stumble backwards as she let herself free. Damian played with the knife a bit more, circling around Tifa as a hunter would. She kept her guard up, but slowly drifted to confusion through his movements, wondering when he'd strike.

She threw more punches, but managed to hit nothing but air. Tifa required oxygen, now, as she was running out of the energy to fight Damian any longer. Keeping a strong, defensive stance up, she watched his every move as he did hers.

Immediately when her arms dropped just a few inches, he noticed her fatigue an dashed in to thrust his blade towards her, though she weakly brought out an arm to parry his attack. His effort was too strong, however, and the force behind the thrust nearly broke through her parry as his blade sank a few inches into her shoulder area. She cried with pain, but managed to push him away as he pulled his blade back out, the blood dripping off slowly. Tifa brought a hand up to her shoulder, but noticed that the cut did not damage any joints. It was only a flesh wound, but it stung, and blood was coming out of it.

Damian gripped the blade and lunged in for another attack, and Tifa barely had any energy left to move, shutting her eyes as she backed up against the wall. When he was close enough to hit, something along the way came and stopped his blade. Tifa opened her eyes and saw a full-length sword in between her and Damian. Following the blade to its grip, she saw the man that held the blade; the man in her recurring dreams; the man that would never leave her side.

Cloud pushed Damian back with his blade and stood in front of Tifa. He kept a strong eye on Damian and gripped his sword tight, ready to pounce at any moment.

"Sorry I'm late, Tifa," he said.

A soft smile appeared on her face. "C-Cloud…"

The blond haired man gripped his blade with two hands and peeked over his shoulder to her. His look bore some sorrow, yet it was a peculiar kind. It was not the sorrow of loss, but the sorrow of realization, and the fact that he was about to lose something.

In front of him, Reno jumped into the action and faced off with Damian while he was given the chance to speak with Tifa for a moment. He turned around and kneeled down to talk to her, holding her comfortably in his arms and inspecting her wound.

"He's pretty fast," she said with a smile.

"Will you be alright?" he asked.

She nodded with a smile, noting his always-straightforward questions. Somehow, she missed them, and it was refreshing to hear Cloud's voice again.

"Good."

He looked up at Reno, who wasn't faring very well with the assassin. Reno still held him off, however, but Cloud knew that he'd have to support at some point. Turning back to Tifa, he caressed her cheek and brought himself to kiss her, something that they hadn't done in a very long time. Her face had a shocked, yet charmed expression when he pulled away; she found herself wanting more, but the situation was escalating.

"I'll never leave you again," he spoke quietly to her. "I promise."

She smiled, and even felt a tear building up in the corner of her eye. However, she fought the tears and turned away. "Go."

Cloud left her sitting against the wall and stood up as he held the blade in his hand, walking over to engage Damian. Damian had just knocked Reno off his feet, leaving Reno badly wounded with a few horrible cuts and a bloody nose. Spotting the blond-haired man, Damian didn't hesitate to engage in combat.

Cloud dashed in with a slash, barely missing Damian, who seemed to be quite well-conditioned to fight a swordsman. Did he ever fight a swordsman before? Regaining his balance, Cloud circled around Damian with keen eyes, his blade at the ready.

As they held glares, Damian strangely found himself at synch when fighting with Cloud, since the blond man's movements felt so similar. Plus, it was level ground since there was no more Mako use, evening the two to pure physical and mental ability. Damian's ferocious stare signified the predatory, bloodthirsty sensation that ran throughout his body, as if he was something else entirely.

In a quick flash, Cloud went for another slashing move, except that Damian had underestimated his opponent's speed. The blade barely hit Damian, but left a noticeable cut diagonally across his chest. It wasn't deep, but it was irritatingly stinging, and would likely leave a scar. Damian let out a grunt, and did not notice Cloud coming as the blond haired man executed a sweeping kick that knocked him off his feet. Falling to the ground, he had to roll out of the way as the blade came crashing down, nearly hitting him. Damian stopped rolling and his hand brushed against a piece of metal. He grasped it and held it in his hand.

Cloud sprinted towards him and lifted up his blade, but Damian turned around and aimed the gun at Cloud, firing off the last round in the magazine. At the loud roar, the swordsman stopped, feeling as if he'd been hit by a sledgehammer to the abdomen. Cloud stumbled back and felt the running blood down the side of his abs, bringing his hand up to feel the wound. It hurt more than usual, especially when there was no Mako to keep him stable.

Tifa's eyes were wide, and her mouth open. She let out a shriek as Cloud took a few steps back before falling to the ground.

Still breathing, the spiky-haired blond focused on taking whole breaths, trying to keep himself composed even after being hit. It didn't look severe, but he had trouble moving anyway since it was painful. Then, Damian came into sight.

The hunter ran a hand along the scar that Cloud had given him, and felt the blood that trickled down in a line. After wiping the blood onto Cloud's shirt, Damian reached for another magazine in his belt, hoping to end the blonde's life quickly before he could stand again.

Out of nowhere, another gunshot fired. Tifa turned to look where the sound came from.

Rude held his handgun comfortably, even though he was incapacitated minutes ago by Damian's armbar technique. Slowly turning to face him, Damian ran his hand along the new gunshot wound that he sported, located at the bottom half of his left ribcage, on the far left. Blood was streaming out from there, tainting his perfectly white striped dress shirt along with his dark gray suit. As if he was inspecting the gunshot, Damian felt all areas and took a few breaths.

He wasn't coughing out any blood.

However, Damian collapsed anyway, prompting Rude to carefully step over to him to ensure his death. When Rude got close enough, he peeked over Damian, who was on his side and had his back turned to him, to see if Damian was still alive. A few more steps were taken as Rude's pacing turned slower, taking the utmost caution in examining the fallen enemy.

A few clicks of a loaded gun caused Rude to aim his handgun at Damian, almost ready to fire.

Bang.

The bullet had hit Rude's strong arm that held his handgun, and he immediately dropped the gun, losing all strength to that arm completely. He quickly reached for it with his other hand. The hunter could only hold the gun with one hand, but his accuracy was still dangerous at close range. Slowly making his way up, Damian was prepared to chase Rude, who had picked up the other gun with his other hand and try to get some distance between them. Rude aimed the gun again and shot at Damian as he struggled to get away, missing the first few shots. His enemy, too, fired off a few rounds but missed.

At last, when Rude managed to aim one of his last few precious rounds, he hit Damian in the thigh, causing the veteran to stumble to the ground. Before he could aim for another shot, Damian shot him in the right ribcage, causing him to stagger back onto a knee. Another lucky shot by Damian hit Rude in the side of the hip, knocking him off balance. Ignoring the pain of the shot, Rude noticed that Damian was nearly out of bullets.

The flash drive that dangled from the corner of his pocket fell onto the ground, but it was the least of his worries at the moment.

Since he had trouble walking, Rude fell to his knees and crawled his way over to the wall, where Tifa was. He still had another round left to hit Damian with, but Damian, himself, was chasing Rude down, albeit slowly. Using every inch of his strength, Rude crawled his way over to her and leaned against the wall, breathing heavily to gather much-needed oxygen to his tired body.

Tifa looked at him tiredly, still fatigued from fighting Damian. "Rude, are you empty?"

He shook his head and ran a hand across his forehead to clear the sweat. "No. Can you shoot?"

Rude showed the gun to her, but his gestures were so forceful and alarmed that she, herself, shared his unusual tremor. Damian was edging closer, but having trouble finding the correct shot as they were still a good distance away.

She was beginning to panic as she shook her head tensely. "I-I don't know…I can't…"

Rude took more breaths and watched Damian limp his way over to them. "Come on, you can do it. I can barely lift my shooting arm."

His grunts of pain were only exacerbating her state of immobility.

"I…I…"

A desperately alarmed look appeared on Rude's face. "Tifa!"

She closed her eyes and covered her ears. "I can't!"

With disbelief, he turned away, hoping to summon the strength to at least bring his arm up and pull the trigger. This was not the heroic moment that he'd imagined for himself. It was in fact, a horrific scene that brought out the very worst feelings within him. Now it was between him and Damian

"Rude…" she said, tears streaming down her eyes. "I'm sorry…"

Her tears brought a sympathetic look to his face, understanding that she was frightened, neither able to understand the situation nor comprehend Damian's motives. He brought his arm to hold her close, sharing all of his guilt, fear, and intensity with her in that one moment. Rude was dirty and bloody, but Tifa didn't mind as she cuddled in his arms for protection.

"It's okay. Don't worry—" he stopped in mid-sentence. "Look out!"

He used his last bit of gathered strength to shield Tifa from the next gunshot that hit him in the back, nearly exterminating the life from his body as he let out a grunt. With nearly watery eyes from the pain, Rude fell onto Tifa's lap and tried to lift his gun up.

"Rude!" she yelled as he fell.

Rude pushed himself to sit against the wall next to her, quite closely in a futile attempt to protect them from Damian. With all of his energy depleted, Rude could only wait now as the hunter halfway limped across the dead space between them. How did it ever come down to this? The look in his eyes began to drain of hope, and the little hope left was extinguished. Reno was out. Cloud was down. Tifa was hurt. And he was _this_ close to death.

Was this about VICE? Was it about old friends? Why did Rude decide to hunt down Damian in the first place? All minor reasons were lost to him, and the only thing he knew now was his own foolishness. Was Damian the towering evil?

Damian only had a few steps left.

Rude turned to Tifa, who was cuddled close in his arms; he looked right into her eyes with the world back in his sights. The feeling of comfort, his myth, the façade of the world that he had imagined, and everything that he ever stood for completely shattered when the spark of realization overcame him. It broke his dreams, his mind, and most of all, his pride. With everything within him destroyed and tainted, all he could do was show a slight smirk.

"I can't do it."

She was still teary eyed, but even more struck when she saw Rude's face of hopelessness. More frightening was his acceptance of himself as something…else; something insignificant.

"What…?"

He actually allowed himself to let out a short chuckle. "I can't beat him. I can't win…"

Tifa looked over towards Damian, who stepped closer. Damian only stopped to look down beside him and notice the flash drive. He bent over painfully to pick it up and put it into his jacket pocket. After limping the next few steps, he finally stopped to take a good look at the two, peering into their broken souls as he was more than ready to do what was necessary. Nothing else was on his mind.

All Rude could do was watch his shortcomings edging back to smile at him. It was every rule he disobeyed, every concept he had forgotten, and everything he came do disregard. It was all in front of him; it was always there. He just didn't see it.

Damian gave them his glare, but a much more harshly different rendition. It was the look just before taking a life; the look of absolute commitment. Of all the things they went through, Rude was still surprised when Damian was ready to kill him. And Damian didn't even know the truth. But, he never cared. He would disregard all personal things about him just to get his job done. But what for? It was something no one could ever understand.

Rude's baptism in his own blood brought him into the new world with fear, bleakness, and resentment. This world was one that he never clearly saw; that he only peeked into. Was it his own ignorance of this world?

Did Rude not see it, or did he not care? Was he just like Damian, then? He didn't want to see it, did he? No. As Damian so rightfully put it after killing Jacobson, Rude pursued this "ride" for a reason. As a reminder. Everything was clear now. Rude was now at the fringe of his mind; at the bare lack of meaning of his 'myth.' He found discomfort in seeing it.

He cursed himself for ever pursuing Damian's trail, considering the different events that would have happened if he avoided Jackson Kent's murder that one day. It all seemed so easy to avoid. Yet, when he looked back at it, he realized that he wouldn't have done things any differently. His own circumstances would force him to chase Damian anyway. His own myth would drive him beyond the fringe. Was this the biting irony of inevitability and chance? Of limiting yourself freedom of choice, even when you have it?

Damian lifted the handgun to Rude's face as Tifa's sobs grew louder. The sight of the spiral-patterned barrel was all Rude could see; a portal to the other side was waiting for him at the end of the gun.

Rude was never looking for an answer. He knew now that he wasn't looking for the truth. He just wanted to live in his myth.

He just wanted to be fooled.

That's narcissism.

**I know. You really want to kick me in the face right now. But, I'll honestly say this: did you truly expect it to go any other way? However, I've still got one or two chapters left to do, then I'm DONE with the story, and will be moving on to other projects. But, I'll put some interesting insight towards the end, and answer some of the other things that haven't tied up. And don't give up on the story yet, guys. We've got to see where this goes, right? Anyway, sorry to leave you hanging. Please leave a review on your way out, whether it's to express your anger over this chapter or to express your thoughts or to just stop by and say hello. I'll see you guys next time. Stay tuned.**


	20. All We Need

**Ah, here it is. It's the whopping finale to my story, and it is definitely the longest chapter. It (barely) surpasses the 8000 word mark, so, yeah, I'd say that's pretty darn long. Anyway, I know I left you guys hanging at the end of 19, so here's 20. It should wrap up our main characters and establish some newer things. Anyway, I know you guys are dying to read the ending, so enjoy!**

**Chapter 20: All We Need**

The towering evil. Was Damian the towering evil? Was he the evil looming over Rude at this very moment, willingly going to take his life?

At that notion, Rude shook his head. There is no evil in this world; there are only men, who are capable of both good things and bad. Damian was a lost soul, wandering in the depths of time and space. He was a ghost, and Rude acknowledged that, accepting the inevitable fate that had befallen him.

The barrel was steady. There was neither shaking nor tension in Damian at all, signifying his sheer tranquility when holding the pistol up to Rude's face. One last change in Damian's eyes ignited his commitment in finishing Rude off. Damian didn't care

Damian's arm muscles tensed, and the finger began to pull the trigger.

Ring-ring.

Just like that, the flashing moment halted abruptly. The assassin looked down at his waist and noticed that his phone was ringing. With the gun still pointed at Rude, Damian postponed his murderous intent and grabbed his phone, flipping it open, and putting it to his ear.

Voices could be heard from the phone, but Rude couldn't make out what was being said. The indistinct voice was a woman's, though, and Damian made no attempt to exchange words with her. After she spoke, he closed the phone and stared back at Rude and Tifa. Tifa was holding Rude close, keeping her eyes shut, ready for anything that would happen. Damian dropped his aim and brought the gun to its holster at the side of his waist. Holstering the weapon, he made no effort to speak, and immediately reached into his jacket pocket. Pulling out what seemed to be a metal syringe, he pierced it into his thigh and injected the dose of medicine. Rude knew that those where condition injections, designed to stimulate and accelerate healing and recovery capabilities, along with pain suppression through its anesthetic properties. After tossing away the syringe, he pulled out a container full of them, and tossed it onto Rude's lap.

Then he turned away and began walking.

The hunter was leaving.

Rude weakly grabbed the container of syringes and took one out. However, he was losing energy and strength. Likely, he was slipping consciousness. The syringe began to slip out of his hand, but Tifa helped him grip it, sinking it right into his thigh. The syringe brought Rude's eyes wide open, and he was focused again. Tifa used one, too, and stood up, holding a hand to her wound and noticing the syringe's potency, for it was slowly beginning to seal. Reaching for her pocket to find a handkerchief or tissue, the tip of her fingers brushed against a cold, metal object. Her eyes widened with surprise and she grabbed the silver lighter that she picked out of Wolfe's purse. Immediately, she chased after the silhouette that was leaving the warehouse, leaving Rude behind to gather the strength to stand.

"Wait!" she yelled, hoping that Damian's aid was a gesture of neutrality. Hopefully, he wouldn't turn around and gun her down.

When she got outside, she was somewhat awe-struck by the sunlight that broke through the rain. It cast a beautiful light upon the dark district, but she didn't have time to admire it. Damian was already headed towards his car, still limping from the gunshot to his thigh earlier, though he was walking with full strength as if the wounds were nothing.

"Damian!" she called, at last using his name.

She saw him turn around and give her a glance through his sunglasses, and she became surprised by his lack of aggression in the expression. In fact, he looked quite approachable.

"Wait up," Tifa said with a slight smile as she ran over to him.

He was expressionless when she was within a few steps, and stood there, waiting for her to speak. Holding the lighter in her hand, she held it in front of him and kept a friendly attitude, which seemed to throw him off his guard.

"Uh," she began, having trouble finding the words.

Many things about Damian rushed through her mind, but what kept her from speaking was his relationship with Aerith. She couldn't ask him, though, because he doesn't remember.

"I think this lighter belongs to you."

She could see his eyes through the sunglasses as they dropped to meet the silver lighter in front of him. Accepting the lighter, all he did was nod. It was strange to see him act so silent, especially after her initial exchange with him at the hospital.

"Thanks," he muttered, and began to turn away.

"I stumbled upon it by chance," she added, causing him to face her again. "Uh…since you don't remember, I guess I'll just tell you. It was given to you by someone."

He nodded. "I know. That's why I keep it with me."

"How do you know?"

Damian shrugged. "I just know. Just because I can't remember things doesn't mean I don't understand them. It's complicated..."

She smiled. "I see."

"I apologize for this mishap," he then said. "If my client had changed the contract earlier, none of this would have happened."

"Oh…" she looked down. "Well, you always had a choice."

"No matter how many choices we've got, we're still bound by rules," Damian said. "It's our self-loyalty."

"But…you were bound to run into us when…when Rude got involved, right?"

Giving her a comforting smile, Damian grabbed the pack of cigarettes in his jacket pocket and pulled out a cigarette.

"It was never my intention. But…"

He put the cigarette to his lips and lit the tip with the lighter, putting the lighter away and taking a drag of nicotine. Damian exhaled the smoke and smiled again.

"I got to you the same way the lighter did."

With those final words, Damian turned away and walked to his car, unlocking the doors. However, just as he was a few feet away from the vehicle, she had an urge to say something to him about Aerith.

"I heard about your mental issues," she called to him. "I read it in the file."

"Yeah?" he replied loudly. "What do you think?"

"Her name is Aerith," Tifa said. "The woman you keep dreaming about."

Damian took another drag and chuckled, shaking his head and looking down to the ground.

"What?" she asked, wondering what he was laughing about.

He walked to the driver's side of the vehicle and raised an eyebrow, shrugging off her recent statements.

"It won't matter."

"Write it down," she told him.

Damian shook his head. "It doesn't work that way."

Opening the door, Damian stepped inside and turned on the engine. He let the engine run for a few moments while he buckled his seatbelt and placed the flash drive in a secure spot. Turning on the windshield wipers, he let the wipers clean his windshield as he reached into the glove compartment and took out more syringes and some bandages. After quickly injecting the syringe, he realized that this was no place to apply the bandage and tossed it in the passenger's seat.

Damian looked back out the windshield and turned off the wipers that cleansed his view of the world. It wouldn't matter. It never did.

He was ready to shift into "drive," but he looked past the passenger's seat to see Tifa still standing there, watching him as if he were a captured and injured animal, like children at the zoo's new exhibit. He knew that all she wanted was some insight, much like him. Breathing out smoke through his nostrils, Damian opened the window to the passenger's side and Tifa's attention came back to him. She took a few steps so she wouldn't have to shout back a response if he spoke.

"Many times, the world changes when I close my eyes," he said to her. "When I wake up, I could find myself in a place I don't know. That's my world. And I can't change it if it keeps changing itself."

She gave him a sympathetic smile. "_My_ world is quite bland."

"Bland, huh?"

"Mundane."

Damian gave her a smile and was finishing up the cigarette. "Good. That means you can still change things. You can change how you live."

Tifa nodded and thought about the many days she wasted sleeping on the couch at Seventh Heaven. "Thanks."

He chuckled. "Don't thank me. You haven't changed anything yet."

"Will we see you again? When you're not busy?"

Damian shifted to "drive" and kept his foot on the parking pedal. He finished up the cigarette and tossed it out the opposite window, looking back at her and shaking his head. She was just about as naïve as Rude was, he concluded.

Letting out a laugh, he looked down and his initial gesture turned into a nod. His laugh continued for another few seconds before he turned back to Tifa, neutral and reinvigorated.

"Get real."

Damian hit the gas and drove out of the driveway to the warehouse, leaving Tifa behind with a strange smile on her face, still unable to understand what was exactly on his mind. The car sped off into the distance, past the rail systems above and through the bleak town silently, as if a ghost came in and passed with the wind. In an instant, Damian was gone from her sights.

"What'd he say?" Cloud's voice emerged from behind, seemingly okay.

Tifa turned around and gave him a smile. "I don't think we'll see him again."

"He didn't try to hurt you?"

She shook her head. "No. He...I don't…"

"Understand?" Cloud finished her sentence.

"Yeah."

"Let's hope he doesn't show up again anytime soon," he said with a comforting tone, unusually at ease as he spoke to her. Usually, Cloud was more reserved and short on words, but he was actually comfortable next to her.

With Cloud next to her, Tifa abandoned all thoughts of Damian and Aerith and wrapped her arms around the spiky-haired warrior. He let out a grunt of pain as she did so.

"Ow," he groaned as she gripped him. "I'm still hurting, you know."

Letting him go, she smiled and looked into his eyes. "I missed you."

Returning a smile, he managed to nod and reply, "So did I."

It was strange now, that Cloud had finally been more approachable than usual. Yet, it was something that she found herself waiting for, and at the same time, she was still a bit skeptical. It was all talk. Cloud had to prove to her that he would never leave.

"Come on," she said, grabbing him by the hand. "We gotta go get Reno and Rude, then I'll take you to meet this interesting taxi driver."

"Taxi driver?" he raised an eyebrow.

Nodding, she dragged him back towards the warehouse. "Yep. But first we'll need to call paramedics."

Change. Damian encouraged change, and his words stuck with her. On top of that, Cloud was coming around, too, so things were looking brighter than ever. Tifa looked back at the empty road where Damian left, and smiled to herself. Change was all she needed.

* * *

Both he and Cloud were due for surgery soon, but he still stuck around to reflect on what had happened. Rude threw his suit jacket and dress shirt into the back of Reno's car and turned to face the scene, flooded with paramedics, cops, and detectives alike. Still limping from his closed up wounds, Rude walked over to the back of an ambulance that had just hoisted Cloud into the back. There was another one nearby that would be for him.

"You alright, Strife?" Rude asked. "How do you feel?"

Cloud looked and him and shrugged. "Like I've just been shot."

"Sorry I got Tifa dragged into this," he apologized. "It was never my intention."

"Save it," Cloud said, catching Rude by surprise. "We were all in this together. If it weren't for us, you would've been dead."

Nodding with a small chuckle, Rude proceeded to head over to the other ambulance. "I guess that's fair. I'll see you soon."

Making his way over to the small stretcher, Rude sat on it and ran a hand on his aching limbs while paramedics ordered him to take off his undershirt so they may clean his wounds. While he sat there, a pair of detectives came over to him and decided to question him. One was older than the other, but the younger one was more eager to investigate.

"Mr. Rude?" the younger one asked. "I'm Detective Carson. Uh, did you happen to get a look at the guy?"

The older one was smoking a cigarette and ignoring the two's conversation. Rude looked up at Detective Carson and sighed.

"I won't matter," Rude said. "Because you won't find him."

Carson let out a chuckle and shrugged. "I don't know…I'm pretty confident in my abilities as a detective."

"It's beyond your understanding, rookie," Rude said, reclining in the angled stretcher. "I'm sure your department will get a visit from the boys in black soon. Central City will give you the details."

"Government?" the rookie asked. "You're saying that this was government?"

Rude shook his head. "No. But it's a good idea to keep your mouth shut."

The older detective breathed out some smoke and turned to the two. He had a very weathered look on his face, as if he had done detective work for too long. A look of understanding could be seen, though.

"Come on, rook," he said to Detective Carson. "Let's get back to the station."

As the two detectives walked away from the unsuccessful questioning session, Rude rested his head down and waited for them to take him away. The rookie was quite eager, and it reminded him of his early days as a trainee. Such eagerness. Before he could be taken, though, a view of red hair walking towards him made him look back up. Reno walked around in his undershirt and approached his partner.

"I didn't know they had on-site stitching," Reno said, glancing at the new stitches he sported on his arms and body. "But, I'm pretty satisfied, yo. That syringe stuff is damn effective."

Rude nodded. "Yeah, sure."

"You okay?"

The bald man looked over to Tifa, who was talking to Cloud through the doors. Even after events like these, she looked happy and upbeat, and it made him glad to see her that way. For the first time, she didn't look drained, tired, bored, or even fed up, and was truly in a peaceful and content mood. Reno looked over to them, too, and returned his vision to Rude.

"So close, yet so far, huh?" his partner muttered with a laugh. "You gonna talk to her?"

Rude turned away and waited for the rest of the paramedics to finish up cleaning his wounds. "She looks happy. Let's keep it that way."

"Aw, don't be such a sucker," the redhead retorted with utter disgust. "You owe it to yourself to at least talk to her after taking a fucking bullet and shit for her."

Gloomily, the bald man looked down. "I _am_ a sucker. I lost. I couldn't beat Damian."

Reno's initial light attitude in approaching his partner immediately expired when he noticed Rude's dismal mood.

"I think she's happier that you're alive, yo."

"I was stupid, Reno," Rude said. "I thought I could do it. I really thought I could do it. But in the end, I was a fool. I'm just really no one at all."

"Well, we fall so we rise again, bro," Reno said. "If you're still the Rude I know, you'll rise to the occasion in due time. All you need to do is change, right? If you've been a fool, then don't be one anymore. Simple as that."

"It wasn't just about hurting me, Reno. It was about killing me. Killing what I stood for. Damian may not have killed me, physically, but he sure has killed my motivation. I don't feel like doing anything useful anymore," Rude sadly mumbled.

"You can't be pissed at yourself forever," Reno added. "Because the world will still move while you don't. That's just how it is."

Rude sighed but refused to look up, instead giving a nod. "Yeah. Those are the rules."

"It's just you. They're _your_ rules, yo. Change 'em how you like 'em. But you've got to accept that there are things in this world you can't control. You can only change and alter things, right?"

Silently laughing at the surprising insight given to him by his partner, Rude nodded and looked up. Damian's words as a VICE agent echoed through his ears. "Yeah. But first, I've got to be a part of the world in order to change it."

"If that's what's true, then fly with it," Reno said. "I think it's pretty simple for you to understand, yo. You're one of the most disciplined people I know."

Damian's words began flying through Rude's mind as if they were fresh memories.

_"You have to take your time and let yourself grow a little older, a bit wiser, and a bit stronger. When you're good enough, you can finally __change__ things, but the only way you can truly change the bad is when you have it inside you. My path transcends these crimes, Victor. You'll understand one day."_

"You'll understand one day…" Rude quietly muttered to himself.

_"You'll understand one day, Rude. You won't see it coming, but it'll be there."_

When Rude finally understood why he had fallen, he immediately felt at home in this new world that had opened itself to him. At last, he embraced what he saw. Simultaneously, he felt as though he was leaving the past forever, and moving onward into the new world with a better view of the big picture. He realized now, that it was never about standing in what he believed in. With a word of thanks to his partner, Rude was hoisted up into the ambulance and the doors shut in front of him.

A look of revitalization could be seen on his face. He had finally gotten over himself and accepted his own capabilities as a human being. The weight on his shoulders was lifted, and the burden was no longer existent, allowing him to feel a sense of freedom that he found himself wanting for a long time. The battle with himself was over. Now, he could change things. Rude was no longer bound by the rules. He no longer had a fringe. He was limitless.

* * *

The flash drive was set ablaze when he had given it to her. The woman in the beautiful black dress gave him a nod and closed her purse after putting back her small incinerating device. The two stood in the back of an alleyway, just outside one of the fanciest restaurants in town. In the streets, cars whizzed by, driven by valets on one side and people on the other. It was three hours before midnight, but she decided to meet him out here anyway, excusing herself from her dinner at the expensive, extravagant restaurant.

Raven had thought he hired Damian to do the dirty work, but the ultimate client, a person from the government, had already paid his agency more than enough money to wipe out Raven, along with all the other VICE agents. When Raven thought he was in control, Damian knew it was his chance to catch him off-guard. What Damian didn't see coming was the call from his contact to spare Rude and his friends.

Exhaling a breath of smoke into the night air, Damian didn't look down at the flash drive, and instead looked at his agency contact. "So, is that it?"

She looked up at him and threw her purse around her shoulder. "I trust you didn't hurt anyone as our client requested?"

"That was a very late request," Damian commented.

"Did you hurt anyone?"

"Come on, Diane," he said with a smirk. "I always do as I'm told, so long as the price is right."

After giving him a soft smile, her face almost instantaneously dropped to one of disgust, giving him a pouting frown in the process. It was almost cute to him, actually.

"I don't suppose we can change a few things with your treatment," she said in a high-class manner, "since I find it awkward that you're having memory sessions now, and are addressing me in such a way with familiarity that it nearly brings me to a homicidal rampage."

"Glad to know that I'm driving you crazy," Damian said. "Love you, too."

"Cut the crap, Agent Hunter," she said. "How are the memory sessions?"

Memory sessions were the times in between missions that Damian was allowed to have alone, able to exercise his mind's recalling abilities in the short term. It was an attempt to keep him from losing his mind completely, and truly developing any form of amnesia.  
He rolled his eyes. "Boring. I'm holed up in a hotel room all day. That's all I can remember, anyway."

"I assume you still want to proceed with the treatment."

Damian shrugged. "Whatever keeps me going."

For a moment, there was a silence in the air when the two found nothing to speak about his mission. Usually, at moments like this, they'd say their farewells and Damian would get a hotel room, then wait for more contracts later on. Not only that, but Diane also had a dinner to get to, so he found it odd that his contact would hang around for a bit longer than she had to.

"Is that it?" he asked.

"So," she said, "what were your thoughts on this contract? It was a true risk sending you in to meet people that you once knew."

"I didn't feel a thing."

"Really?"

"How much clearer can I get?"

Diane shook her head nervously and looked down. "Uh, no…it's…nothing."

"You're starting to scare me," Damian stated. "With your worries."

"I'm not worried."

"Yes, you are," Damian asserted. "I know. It's me."

She put her fingers up to her lips, covering them in an acute sense of concern. "How've you been doing? Do you still have the dreams?"

"Every now and then," Damian said, breathing out a puff of smoke. "But, thanks to those suppression pills, I think I'll do just fine."

"You shouldn't smoke. It's not healthy for you."

"It's the only piece of heaven between me and a massive breakdown."

She snatched the cigarette out of his hand. "I'm serious. Maybe you need those massive breakdowns. Suppressing emotions on top of memories won't help."

"I believe it was your idea," Damian added. "Who made _you_ health expert all of a sudden?"

His hand came and gripped her wrist tightly, causing some stinging sensations to rush up and down her forearm. While she gave him a fretful gaze, her eyes gleaming under the moonlight that peeked into the alleyway, he grasped his cigarette back from her and took another drag. Her stare eventually wallowed and sank into a look of disappointment. She was actually worried for him.

"Damian, we rarely ever meet each other like this," she said. "But please, try to consider some of my words when I'm speaking to you in person rather than through a cell phone."

"I won't remember anyway," he said. "What's the point?"

"Stop the memory treatment, please," she told him. "It's not a regulation of our agency. You don't have to do it."

He shook his head an exhaled the smoke. "You should know what will happen if it all comes back to me at once. You'd have to kill me if that ever happened."

Sighing, she gave him a nod of concurrence and reached into her purse again, pulling out a card. The moment had just slipped past, and though she wanted to hang onto it for a bit longer, Damian had no intention to linger around the subject of his treatment.

"This is the card for your hotel room," she said, returning to her normal role as an agency contact. "You'll be in there for as long as it takes. I'll call you when we've got something new."

"Thanks," he said.

"You don't have to thank me every time," she replied. "You're the one who offers to take the contracts, anyway."

With a smile, Damian accepted the card and put it into his jacket pocket. "Well, if I don't thank you, you won't watch over me."

"Don't say that," she said. "I'll always watch over you."

Damian finished his cigarette and tossed it into a nearby trash bin. He gave her one last look before walking away, back into the world of nowhere.

"Remember that it was the client who paid to spare them," she said in reference to Rude and his friends, causing him to turn back. "Would you have killed them if I hadn't called you?"

He thought of the conflict with Rude, and tried to imagine the bald man's importance to his past. There were no memories and thoughts of his days as a VICE agent, so Rude's life meant nothing to him. The fact that the client paid to spare them also didn't move him to ask questions. He just didn't care. The contract was behind him now.

She could only see the hunter's silhouette as he looked at her one last time before leaving. It wasn't often that they met in person, so he tried to make each moment _memorable_, as ironic as it sounded. But, there was no irony in it for him, because she was the only person that he could remember, since she gave him constant details for upcoming contracts.

"Yes," he blankly stated.

She nodded and bit her lip. "That's all I wanted to know."

Though it was hidden in the shadows, he gave her a smile before leaving. "Good night, Diane."

Damian walked away, disappearing into the night while she stood there to contemplate about his condition. He walked to his car and started up the engine, his body still sore from the surgery that was given to him a day or so ago. However, his body was recovering quickly, and in a week or so he should be in shape to move again. Shifting to "reverse," he backed up and headed out the parking lot, hoping to get on the freeway so he could get to his hotel room.

While in heavy traffic, he thought about the name Tifa had given to him. Aerith. That was the woman's name. Though his memories of his dreams were vague, he considered her to be of importance to his past. However, he knew that he couldn't rely on himself for long. He'd have to administer the memory tablet when he got home, or rather yet, the hotel. Damian accepted it. He knew that he used to have affection for this "Aerith" woman, but he wanted to forget about it. In the end, all it would do was compel him to break off his treatment. Based on his own behavior, Damian imagined that his past was anything but pleasant. Thus, he hypothesized that if all the memories returned at once, it would rip his mind into shreds. He didn't want to care.

He could've loved Aerith during his last contract. It could have been a week ago, a year ago, or even something from his adolescent days. Neither his relationship with her nor Tifa's own knowledge of the woman would make him interested in making his own agenda. He wanted to stay lost in his own system; he didn't want to remember anyone. It was the only way he'd survive.

Damian took out another cigarette and grabbed the silver lighter. All it offered was a light to set the tip of a cigarette on fire. Though it was dim and misguided, it was all the light he needed.

He opened the window and breathed the smoke outside as traffic moved slowly along the freeway. When his impatience grew, he turned towards the next exit and searched for a different route, away from everyone who participated in the freeway. His vehicle was no longer on the normal path.

He stopped at the light and exhaled another breath of smoke. Looking at the rearview mirror, Damian saw nothing but a dark, empty street. It was as if the road behind him had nothing important; nothing significant that caught his eye. That was all that he needed. It didn't matter if he ever looked back at all. There was nothing there.

When the light signaled to go, Damian stepped on the pedal and headed towards his hotel somewhere in the city, ready to spend time relaxing alone in a place that sheltered him from the turbulent weather of time and space.

It was all he ever needed.

* * *

The last customer had just left and she was cleaning the tables. Today was quite busy for Tifa, but she was happy anyway and was ready to head home where Cloud should be arriving soon. She had to thank Yuffie for agreeing to watch Marlene and Denzel while they were gone, and she was planning to do it tomorrow. After wiping down the counter for the night, she turned around to wash the rest of the glasses.

Then, from behind, the door opened.

"Sorry, but we're closed," she said, not turning around.

"Oh really? I guess I should find some place else to spend my time."

The deep voice was a voice she missed hearing since he was at the hospital all this time. Tifa turned around to see Rude, and without even speaking, she quickly went over to him and threw her arms around him. With an expression of surprise, Rude returned her embrace and the two gave each other a good look.

"Did they just release you?"

He nodded. "They said I should be fine in a few days."

Tifa smiled and walked back around the counter. "What'll it be for you?"

Rude took off his shades and put them into his jacket. "The usual."

"Great," she said grabbing two cups and filling them up.

Passing one to him across the bar, she sipped on her own beer and leaned across the counter, lowering her face to meet Rude's while he began drinking his. He didn't feel discomfort in her gaze, and instead wanted to initiate a conversation to break the inevitable silence in the room.

"So, how've things been?" he asked. "It _has_ been a week since."

"They've been great," she replied. "I've actually patched some things up with Cloud, and I'm just spending time with the kids."

"Sounds like things are finally working out for you, huh?"

Tifa nodded and took another drink. "Yeah. They are. I'm finally making some changes, you know? I want to make the best of this."

"That's how it should be," he added positively.

"I do have a question, though."

"Mm?"

"Who is the cab driver?" she asked. "I forgot to ask Reno about it."

Rude raised an eyebrow. "You've been talking to her?"

"On occasion," she replied. "We've spoken a few times now. It's really…strange."

"She _is_ a lot like her, isn't she?"

"Yes, she is. Is her name really Eva?"

Shaking his head, Rude took another sip of his beer and set the glass down. "No. She has to remember her name, first."

"And that's Aerith, right?"

"Honestly, I don't know," Rude said. "She's yet to figure that out herself."

"Did Rufus find her or something?"

Rude shrugged, having trouble finding the answer. "I guess. He never told us where. But he has some suspicions as to where she came from."

"And where?"

"Well, so far, he knows that she's a byproduct of another project. We called it Project EVA. EVA 209 was tattooed to the back of her left shoulder when we found her. It's probably a government project…we still don't know. Basically, the cab driver you know is Aerith's doppelganger," Rude said.

Tifa looked down. "A doppelganger…"

He sipped the beer again. "Yeah. I don't think she's related to Aerith in any way, but she certainly looks like Aerith, she talks like Aerith, and even has extremely vague memories that were Aerith's. Somehow, her mind is completely adjusted to be like her. She just has trouble remembering certain things and people."

"So she's not Aerith…"

"I don't think she's the Aerith you once knew, but she's Aerith in several ways," Rude said. "I don't know if she was created or anything."

"Created?"

Rude shook his head. "No, forget it. I think she was put through psychotherapy. I think that woman used to be someone else. As to why she was created, I don't know. Rufus suspects that the government wants to create an artificial Cetra, but so far these are just cold speculations."

"But wouldn't the government come after you guys if you have her?"

"Nope. She's been long-abandoned by her makers," he answered. "We just took her in and gave her a home. We've just been trying to help her regain her memories. She could still have memories of what happened to her, or she might dig up memories of Aerith. I've got no idea what'll happen. In a way, I guess she's a lot like Damian right now."

Tifa ran a hand through her hair and tried to think a bit more about this artificial Aerith. "Can she build memories?"

"Yeah, of course," Rude said. For a moment, the two were silent, but when he finished gulping down the rest of his beer, he looked up with a thoughtful expression. "Hey, you know what? Why don't I convince Rufus to have her go out a bit more? She spends some nights driving people around, but aside from that, she's always held in some room and going through mind exercises. Maybe spending time with you guys can help her out just a bit more."

"You'd do that?"

"Sure, why not? I think it's a great opportunity to have someone like her around. Maybe she can help you with the bar or something."

Tifa clasped her hands together and shared his sudden enthusiasm. "I think that sounds great. Should I still call her Eva, though?"

He shook his head. "Nah. We call her Aerith."

"Why'd she call herself Eva, then?"

"Tseng directed her to help you out, actually," Rude said. "Reno must've called Tseng for help. He probably didn't expect him to send her. She was probably told to hide her name from you."

Setting down his glass, Rude watched Tifa take her time with her drink. She finished her glass of beer and took the two over to the sink. The sink was still loaded with several glasses and plates, so it looked like there was work to be done. Rude took of his jacket and unbuttoned the cuffs on his dress shirt, pulling the sleeves up to his elbows and walked over next to her, catching her by surprise as he began to wash the dishes with her.

"Wha…you don't have to help…"

"But I want to," he said, rinsing a few cups.

"No, really, Rude…don't…"

"Hey," Rude then said, catching her look. "You didn't listen to me when I told you to stay at the hotel and wait for Reno. You offered help that I—at the time—didn't really require. So, this is the least I can do, right?"

Stubbornly, he continued to wash the cups while she gave him a bewildered look, shocked by his boldness. Gradually, though, she felt some warmth in his intentions, and stood close to him, finishing up her side of the sink.

"I feel bad for Damian."

"So do I," he said. "But, we can't change the world, can we?"

"No, I guess not."

"I was foolish back there. I shouldn't have chased after Damian in the first place. But, you know, since I survived, I think I'll make a few changes," he then added. "I'll spend my time preserving what I already have, while finding new and better things to add to my life."

She looked up at him. "Like…?"

"Well," he paused. "_You_, I guess. I don't usually talk to others that much, but I think I'm pretty comfortable talking to you. I sound comfortable, don't I?"

"You sound a lot more comfortable than when you first talked to me a couple of weeks ago," she giggled. "But do you really mean that?"

Rude nodded with sincerity. "Yeah, definitely. I think you're one of the most interesting people I've ever met."

Tifa gave him a look of slight ridicule. "No, you're flattering me."

"You had a weird dilemma, though," he said. "I guess running into you helped you work it out, right? And you really helped me along the way. Not many people do that."

Her expression fell into one of warmth when he spoke his words of appreciation. Seldom did people ever thank Tifa for truly helping them, but Rude's words truly meant something beautiful to her.

"Oh…"

"And I forgot to thank you," he said. "So, thank you."

She smiled sweetly, but still had a hint of conflict within her. "No problem…that's what friends are for, right?"

Inside, Rude felt as if he was still intruding, but he wanted to tell her how he felt. But, he found himself restricting the way he truly felt about her, because he knew that things wouldn't work out. Instead, he wanted to tell her things that were best for her. It was the only way he could preserve his own self-honor in the process.

"I think you and Strife should step up your relationship," Rude then said, breaking off her initial train of thought. "You two have history together."

She had thought that he was going to say something else, but she gave him a bittersweet smile in return. "Yeah…we'll figure something out…"

They finished up the plates and Rude wiped his hands on a dry towel. The unusual silence from Tifa gave him a strange feeling. He hadn't turned around yet, but instead stood up and put his hands on the counter with his back to her. Rude knew what she was thinking, and it was on his mind, too. He knew why he came into the bar in the first place. He saw that she was lonely, and needed someone to talk to, but now that things have worked out, Rude wanted to turn his back on her so he wouldn't ruin something that was beautiful.

"Tifa…" he started, still not turning to her.

She didn't answer, but instead kept an eye on him. Her insides were swirling, and an influx of various emotions was going to surface.

Rude turned around and looked at her, seeing the conflict in her eyes. She loved Cloud. He didn't want to wreck their relationship. Instead, he encouraged it, and hopefully preserve his friendship with her, even though he wanted more.

"I…" he sighed.

She walked up to him, close enough to cause some discomfort. Tifa reached for his tie and grasped it, pulling him down close to her face.

"Don't do that…" he said with nervousness. "Please…don't…"  
Her hand caressed his face, and she slowly drew close to him for a kiss. The moment was too quick as he backed away, leaving her wanting more as she pressed herself against him, heart rate increasing gradually. When he couldn't stop the situation from escalating anymore, Rude let down his guard, submitting to her will, allowing his desire to overtake him. He wrapped his hands around her and locked his lips with hers, not caring about her relationship or his own foolish rules.

She began unzipping her black vest, and he took off his tie. After they undressed, the two allowed themselves to share their affections with one another, both seizing the moment to have each other that night. His hands ran through her hair and she gripped his strong, muscular arms when they went into the back room and onto the couch. He could smell her enticing, seductive scent as he pulled her close, caressing his hand down the curve of her back as her breathing quickened. Whispers of desire, groans of hunger, and cries of pain and pleasure escaped from her throat as he gave her a sensation that was long-needed. Their bodies had joined for the first time, and Tifa never imagined that Rude would be this satisfying.

They were lost in the night, and in each other.

After it was over, Rude put his dress shirt back on as she fixed her skirt. Clearing his throat, he walked over and grabbed his tie, quickly throwing it around his neck and tying it hastily, yet skillfully. She smiled when he threw on his jacket, looking just like he did when he walked in. Tifa walked up to him and gave him a kiss before he was ready to leave.

Holding his hand, she walked him out the door and to his car after locking the bar, because she was ready to leave as well. They stood under the street light and watched a few cars whiz by, keeping the street alive every few minutes or so.

Crossing her arms, she kept an eye on him to see if he'd say anything.

"I don't know if it would work," he said. "Between us. I'm not sure…"

Tifa smiled and watched him unlock his car. "I don't know, either."

"I can't run with you, Tifa," he said. "Strife needs you. He needs you more than ever."

She nodded. "I know."

It looked as though he smirked as he opened his door. "I guess I'll see you some other time."

"Thanks, Victor," she said, giving him a soft smile. "If you hadn't walked into my bar, I…"

"Don't," he said. "I'm happy for you."

He knew that it wouldn't work. Tifa was from another world, and his own perception of reality kept him from staying with her. There were circumstances he couldn't run against.

Before he left, she stopped him. "Will you be around?"

Rude looked at her for a moment. If he couldn't be with her, then he knew that he should at least try to maintain a strong relationship with her. It was all he could offer her, and all she could offer him.

Visibly, his lips turned into a smile, completely catching her by surprise. Rude leaned towards her and gave her a kiss.

"I'm always around," he whispered to her ear before drawing away and entering his car.

Tifa smiled to his response as he drove away into the distance. The truth was, Rude was always around. He never left on some other business, or even on personal issues. Rude was always keeping those close to him as a first priority. It was admirable.

Rude kept driving, but looked at the rearview mirror and watched Tifa enter her vehicle as well. Maybe things could turn out good for him one day, but until that day, Rude would try to better himself in any way that he can, and spend more time building longer relationships with other people. He stopped at a light and looked at the rearview mirror again.

There were many things. People still walked around at this time of night, and they were happy, moving, and loving. Couples held hands together and friends shared jokes while walking down the sidewalks. Cars behind him played music and listened to the radio, all probably heading home when the clock hit midnight. The road behind had many things that made him feel comfortable about himself; things he couldn't forget.

Rude looked at the road ahead when the light signaled to go, keeping the thoughts of Damian, Tifa, and other things in his mind.

The new world was looking better than ever. He was given a chance.

It was all he ever needed.

**So here we are. We're at the end of the road. The ride's been a bit crazy, hurtful, and even unforgiving at times, but I hope you enjoyed reading this story. Just to let you know, I'm not leaving aspects towards the end to hang. I've got ideas for another project. Say…a sequel? In a way, it's not really a sequel, but it'll build off the storyline after this one.**

**Additionally, I've already written a chapter for this "sequel," so I hope you guys have me on author alert or something if you want to find out when I release it. The only information I'll give you is that the main character in the next one will probably be Damian. I was very much wrapped into his character, evolving him from just a plain ol' bad guy to this mentally careless wreck of a person. He should be interesting to work with.**

**Anyway, I'd like to know your thoughts about this story, so please leave a review if you can. If you want to ask me what a lot of it is about, or the "main idea," then go ahead and ask me. Other than that, I hope you guys will read my sequel once I post it (don't know when). Just to let you know, the sequel will be exercising some new things, so it won't be written with the same theme-heaviness such as this one.**

**A special thanks to BJ Louis for giving me some of the best reviews I've ever had, and sticking with me all the way. At times, the reviews truly inspired me to finish chapters I had trouble finishing, so…thank you very much.**

**Well, the story's always here if you readers ever want to come back to it. If, one day I feel compelled, I'll come back and edit some parts of the story. Thanks to all who read the story, and I will see you next time.**


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